Ghosts Of The Past
by Ruthless
Summary: Come,see what happens when one Highlander character is found to be alive,& one Buffy character is found Immortal.Watch the Ghosts of the Past stir,& make contact with the present.Rating-minor coarse language,slash content.
1. Prolouge

**Ghosts of the Past**

**Prologue**

A young looking red haired man moved stealthily behind a blond haired woman. He had been tracking her for the past several nights, studying her movements and trying to work out if she knew. He doubted it, but still, better safe than sorry as he'd worked out a fair while ago.

Once again the woman turned to glance over her shoulder, pausing to scan the street, certain that she wasn't alone but not sure what form her company had taken. The man stepped backwards into a doorway to keep himself out of the woman's line of sight.

The Watchers had no idea that the man was still alive. He'd been keeping to himself in Sunnydale for the better the better part of two decades. It hadn't taken him all that long to work out what was wrong with the town. Fortunately though, that meant he hadn't seen another Immortal for as long as he'd been hiding out. They tended to avoid this town and frankly, who could blame them?

A voice called out and the man put his head around the doorway just in time to see the woman vanish around a corner with a small red haired girl. The man smiled and tried the blonds' name, testing it as though he would a new weapon.

"Buffy," he breathed.

The man's watch beeped, letting him know it was ten. Turning the corner in the direction his quarry was moving, the man speed up. Not enough to make him careless. Just enough to bring the blond, Buffy, and her friend back into his sight.

The back of his neck started to tingle, warning him of how close the other Immortal was and the man froze. He had no wish to get caught up explaining the Game, the concept of Immortality, and every other nook and cranny to her, no matter how nice she looked.

Several feet in front of him, Buffy turned into the door of a nightclub called The Bronze. It had been ages since the man had set foot in one of them. They were loud and tended to bring out the worst in most people, not unlike some bars he'd visited before coming to rest in town.

Sometimes he would have to admit, he found himself wanting the company but he wasn't willing to trade his head for it. What use was company if you were dead, anyway? But still, 'till the man was sufficiently prepared to deal with her, he would protect her from afar.

Well, why not? It was certainly the wiser option.

Walking calmly into the crowd with his head held high, the man made his way over to a table that was on the far side of the room to where Buffy was. She looked quizzically around as he passed, but since he wasn't ordered to stop he finally began to let himself relax.

A few minutes after the man sat down with a beer another man with short, dark hair walked in. The red haired man seemed to remember the vampire as being called Angel, formerly known as Angelus. It was amazing how much one could learn about the dwelling of everything that was evil when one lived directly above it.

The band on stage weren't all that bad. The man seemed to recall that they were called Dogs Ate My Baby, but he couldn't be sure. Especially considering that he didn't remember where he'd heard that.

The man let the music wash over him for a few moments before his attention was drawn away from the words by a familiar tingly. It wasn't just that he was used to being around other Immortals, it was that he had gotten used to being near this one in particular before going into hiding. His eyes scanned the room and lit on a very familiar figure standing in the doorway. The man he had come to town to get away from.

"Shit. Duncan," the man muttered, making his way to the toilet and locking himself in. After considering his position for a few moments he smashed a window and pushed himself out through the gap. It didn't bother him that the glass he hadn't sent flying cut deeply into the flesh of his chest and arms (the only reason his legs avoided the same treatment was because most of the glass stuck fast in his flesh. It was a noble sacrifice) because he was lucky to be feeling at all.

Mere moments later Buffy made her way past the mouth of the alley that the man had broken out into. The man was tempted to scream in frustration. In those few wonderful seconds he had been the only person on his mind. If he didn't want the girl's head on his conscious he would have to warn her. And that meant doing everything else he hadn't wanted to.

But that could wait 'till later. At the moment he had other business to take care of. Gritting his teeth the man wrapped his hands around the first piece of glass and pulled it free. It cut his hands and blood ran freely from his arm for a few seconds before healing, but the man gave it no heed. He had already moved on to the next piece.

When the man was finished and back in the house he had brought he cursed to himself. Obviously, he had chosen the wrong place to settle down.

The girl could wait 'till morning.


	2. Chapter 1: A Different point of View

**Chapter 1**

**A Different Point of View**

**(Duncan)**

Duncan had been shadowing the woman Immortal since around five p.m. that afternoon. He'd had a glimpse or two of another male tracker, but hadn't been able to see him properly, or for long enough to be able to say anything about him other then that he was wearing jeans. And that was debatable. He'd also been careful to stay out of the woman's range, not wanting to worry her unnecessarily, and as a consequence hadn't come close enough to tell whether the other was Immortal.

He would have bet his katana that he was, though. One didn't always have to come into range of another Immortal to confirm what they were. Quite often you could tell just by the way they moved, and whoever this was, they were definitely skilled at keeping to the shadows.

As for the female Immortal...

Well, Duncan didn't know what to think of her. She carried herself like a born warrior with years of experience on top of that and yet it was obvious that she wasn't carrying a sword. No self respecting Immortal would be caught dead without a sword, or they would be dead. And that was of that annoying, permanent kind.

Duncan dropped back a few steps as the woman paused. He caught a new glimpse of her other tracker, or rather, of his sleeve as he stepped back into the doorway of a building. The woman gave a quick glance behind her, an action that he had already seen he perform several times that night.

A small, red haired woman walked up to the blond, and as she began to walk again, fell into step beside her. Duncan narrowed his eyes in order to lip read what the red hair was saying, "Hey Buffy. How are you?"

Buffy smiled at the red head. Even over the distance Duncan could see her eyes light up, "Hi Will. I'm good. Giles wanted me to start the rounds, like the second I got back but I beat him down. Said..." she turned her head away, cutting Duncan abruptly out of the conversation.

A few moments later Buffy and Will turned into a nightclub called the Bronze. Duncan made to follow directly behind her so that he could talk with her when a stone came out of no-where and struck him on the shoulder. Duncan scanned the street but could not, for the life of him, see whom it had been that had thrown it.

The he looked back towards the door of the club and cursed. Buffy's other shadow had already entered into the hustle and bustle of the club internal.

Checking that his sword was still easily accessible Duncan drew a deep breath and plunged into the melee of bad lighting and loud music that the insane youth of today so often frequented.

The second Duncan stepped into the club he felt a very familiar presence. One he hadn't felt for years.

_It can't be_; he thought even as he scanned the room. That was impossible. That person was meant to be dead. And by his own hand no less.

Trying not to let hope get the better of his rational thinking he began to check every face. His heart felt as though it had lodged in his throat as his eyes lit upon the back of someone.

It was a person with a very familiar build and stance, and red hair to boot.

Slowly Duncan shook his head and blinked a few times,

"Richie," he whispered to himself, as though afraid that to say the name out loud would break the spell of the moment and cause the young man before him to vanish. The red-haired male pushed his way through a door the Duncan would have bet was a toilet and he finally got a look at the kids face. It was he.

He wanted to run after the boy and hold him in his arms, to reassure himself that this was real, and let him know that he was here for him. But as strong as his own needs were, his concern for Richie's emotional stability was far stronger. From the brief flashes he could remember of their last encounter, he wouldn't be too eager to meet himself either.

Duncan pushed through the steadily growing crowd and gained the toilet door just in time to make out the sound of breaking glass. It took all of his self-control not to burst into the bathroom and follow him out of whatever window had just been murdered in cold blood.

Slowly Duncan made his way back to one of the empty tables he'd passed by. It was only several seconds later Buffy rose to leave. Duncan watched after her until her presence faded. He no longer had the energy to track her tonight.

Probably half an hour later he made his way over the dark network of streets, back to the apartment he was renting. All through the walk the same thoughts circled in his mind.

_How could he have survived?_

When he got back he slumped into a chair and began to cry. For the boy he thought he had lost. For the man he had just discovered.


	3. Chapter 2: Face To Face

**Chapter 2**

**Face to Face**

**(Overview)**

When Buffy woke the next morning sunlight was streaming in through the window. Groaning she rolled over to look at he alarm clock and sat up, cursing. It said that the time was five in the morning. Only problem was, the numbers were flashing.

Some time last night there had been a power cut.

She shot to her feet, and in her hurry to check the clock on the wall, in the lounge, kicked the door frame hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, and leave a reasonable dent in the woodwork. Making a mental note to avoid the door frame when she got back, she dodged around the corner.

Oh yes, she was definitely late. The clock said it was ten thirty.

Buffy pulled a face. Allowing five minutes for breakfast, which was on the verge of becoming lunch, ten to get dressed and another further fifteen to shove her stuff into her bag and get to the school she should be there by no later than eleven.

Then when that was put into action she cut down on breakfast by all of four minutes, grabbing an apple to eat on the way. She was out the door by ten fifty.

Around three steps into the walk, which was just about a run Buffy paused and raised her hand to her head. She was so going to ask Giles for the address of the migraine demon, so that she could run a stake through his big, ugly heart. She'd been getting them so frequently lately, that it wasn't funny.

The moment Buffy hit the corner two guys came at her from opposite directions. One, a male that looked to be in his late teens, with red hair that looked kind of cute came over a wall. The other, an older male with long black hair simply came around the corner. Her first thought on seeing him was drool-worthy.

The men both said the exact same thing at the exact same time, "I need to talk to you."

Then their eyes met.

The face of tall, dark and handsome drew into a nervous, confused smile, "Richie. I knew I saw you last night. I know that I can never make up for what happened."

Richie, however, seemed to want nothing to do with it. His face twisted into a mask of hatred and fear and pain. He slowly circled around in front of the older man, coming to a pause between him and Buffy. His eyes didn't once leave the older man's face.

The older man extended one hand in front of him, like a person might to a frightened animal, and began to advance, caution in his every movement.

Buffy could see the pain that she'd momentarily glimpsed on Richie's face in the other man's eyes.

Shaking his head Richie drew a sword from under the lose jacket that he was wearing and lifted it into a guard, with the blade coming up to just above his head, "You aren't getting her man, and you sure as hell aren't getting another shot at me."

MacLeod froze in his tracks, not wanting Richie to do anything drastic, "Please Richie, put the sword away. I'm not going to hurt her, and there is no way that I would consider harming you.

"Tell that to the scar on my neck, Mac," Richie spat, and as he began advancing towards Mac the jacket he was wearing shifted.

Duncan winced. There was, true to word, a shallow scar across the front of the young man's neck.

"I wasn't myself the last time we met..." Duncan started.

"Save it," Richie snarled, narrowing his eyes, "You wouldn't be the first one that's tried to fool me with lies,"

He drew back his hand to strike, and it was in that moment that a foot shot out from the direction that he least expected it, and made solid contact with his hand, loosening the sword enough that Buffy could twist it free with minimal effort.

Buffy cleared her throat, "Right," she said, and raising the sword she automatically shifted it around in her grasp in order to find the weight and balance of it. Duncan felt a hint of admiration as he watched the ease with which she adopted a fighting stance that looked like second nature.

"I'd like the simplified version of what's going on here, 'cause I'm already running late enough for school as it is."

"There is no five minute description," Duncan said softly, as he returned his gave to Richie. The younger Immortal turned his head away, determined not to met Duncan's eye, "Even on the best of days it can take an age, and today is definitely not the best of days."

"Well in that case, you can give me the sword I caught a glimpse of, Mr Mac, and don't bother denying it."

For Duncan had just opened his mouth to rebuke the claim, "And I'll expect to be meeting the both of you at the high school, lets say five o'clock this afternoon. If you don't show I might just turn those two nice pieces of metal into an axe, and share them between the two of you, blade-first."

Richie freed his swords scabbed from his side, and shoved it into Buffy's hands with a look of absolute rage on his face.

The he spun, and literally stormed of in the direction, which was opposite to the way he had come from. Duncan's hand drifted to his katana and he hesitated.

"You know, I could always just take it. I'm not a very patient person on the best of days. And, as you were nice enough to point out, today doesn't count amongst them."

In spite of the situation, a tiny smirk tugged at the corners of Duncan's' lips.

_I'd like to see you try that_, he thought, but didn't voice it. After a few seconds he freed his katana and handed it over. He didn't at all like it, but he could tell it would give the woman some form of security, and that was something that my make her easier to deal with when it came to later on that day.

My name is Duncan MacLeod. I'll be looking forward to seeing you this afternoon."

"And so will I, 'cause weapons in a school equals big no-no. Buffy Summers, by the way,"

All of this was said in one breath, and then she took off running, as though Death himself was riding at her heels. He may not have been, but detention was still a reasonable substitute for it.


	4. Chapter 3: Old Connections

**A.N - ****XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**** equals scene change.  
**

**Chapter 3**

**Old Connections**

**(Ethan and Buffy)**

London - 2 days later.

Ethan flicked his finger out of habit, and for a non-existent audience, as he summoned a small ball of white light, to hover beside him, allowing him to see what he was trying to do. Which was, fit his key into the latch without the usual fumbling which generally came with getting back home at three in the morning, while suffering from an almost chronic case of jet lag.

Sighing, mainly in relief, he slipped the key back into his pocket, flicked the light-switch and dragged his suitcase into the foyer. Once all this was done, he started the tour of duty to check that everything was still in place.

Stereo - yes.

Good china - yes.

Shrine for Janus - yes

And then he spotted the light on the answering machine, which was blinking franticly at him. If it were possible for a machine to show emotion, he would have said that it looked peeved with him for his prolonged absence. Not that that would have made much of a difference. There was usually someone, or something around which was pissed off with him, for any number of reasons. For a few moments, he was tempted to ignore it until morning, because he truly was worn out.

But he was curious about what would drive someone to fill up the tape. And besides, it wasn't as though he'd warned anyone that he was going to Cairo for two weeks. It could be, that something important had happened, or someone wanted to get it touch with him in order to give him some back pay.

Well, he could always dream. No one had put a price on that, yet.

Frowning he hit the playback button, and froze at the familiar voice, which he hadn't heard for over five years._ So, now it's you come to me, Rupert, old mate._

"Damn it, Rayne. Where the hell are you? I'm in Sunnydale, and something's come up. I need a hand, and you're the only one that I trust with it."

_Only one? _This could be interesting.

He went through the backlog of messages, all from Ripper, and all in the same vein. The only difference was, the first few were actually polite.

Cursing himself for a fool, he put a fresh tape into the answering machine, and then rang for a taxi to the airport. Afterwards, he lugged his suitcase back outside, turned off the lights which he had so recently turned on, and locked the place up again. It had been so long without any word from his old friend, and yet here he was, worn out, tired, and hungry, and yet, at his beck and call. He'd been home less then half and hour, and here he was, prepared to jump straight back onto a plane for him.

He was ready for any and all of this, even after so long. Why?

_You know well enough why, old fool, _he thought to himself as he momentarily closed his eyes, remembering a brief moment in the seventies. Or had it been the late sixties? The long days and nights had tended to run together back then, courtesy of the mixture of drugs, alcohol, and magick, which they had all heavily indulged in back then.

_Giles' thumb, tracing down his cheek, over the outline of his jawbone. Gentle fingers brushing over his lips, as he lent in to steal a kiss. Looking deep into those green eyes, which were hard and gentle, and cold and impassioned, all in the same moment, as he lay back on the single old, almost flat pillow that they'd shared between the two of them._

_Recalled, even more vividly, the other boy's warm breath, rapid against him, before he moved even closer, no matter how impossible such a task may have looked to be, and, even more importantly, the whispered words which even today he was still prepared to live by.  
_

_"I'd do anything for you, Ripper. Say the word, and I'll be there, no matter what."_

He used to be a fool, and in love. On the other hand, now...Well, not that much had changed, really.

As the taxi pulled up, once again, Ethan drew out a cell phone, and rung a number that he'd been made to memorize a couple of years ago. An ocean away a new friend answered.

"Don't bother coming back to the house, love. I'm heading out to Southern California, Sunnydale. An old friend of mine needs a hand, and I can't say no to him. I guess if I don't see you there we'll catch up when I get back."

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX.**

Buffy knew that turning tail and bolting from the library probably hadn't been the best reaction that she could have had. And spending the last couple of days holed up, in Angels' mansion, by herself, probably hadn't been the most productive of ways to spend he time either. But, on the other hand, getting away from everything had been exactly what she'd needed to do.

She also knew that her friends had probably been out looking for her, even though it wasn't as though they had to concern themselves with her safety. It just wasn't fair.

_Why can't life be fair to me for once?  
_

At least other Slayers' before her had been able to count on death to release them from their duties. Not that she really wanted to be dead right at the moment, but that didn't mean she wanted to spend the next ten or twenty decades killing monsters, either.

Certainly not for the first time that night, Buffy felt a wave of lethargy and sorrow wash over her. In moments like this it felt like she'd been cursed since she first drew breath.

_Oh god... I can't even die..._

She was pacing, and filled with a nervous, restless energy, which she didn't seem to be able to focus on any one thing in particular. She knew what she should do.

Which was let everyone know that she was still okay (what a joke) and then got out on patrol. At least it would give her something to do, and while she couldn't be killed by the beasties of Sunnydale any longer, unless one of them actually bit her head off, that didn't actually apply to the rest of the town.

_What a nice way to be rendered unnecessary, Have everyone in town wake up one morning, Immortal._

She just didn't want to deal with the looks of sympathy from the others, over something that they would never be able to properly understand.

As tempting as it was, she couldn't really stay curled up in here forever. She was bound to get hungry soon, and Angel wasn't exactly a world-renowned conusor. And it wasn't fair, to keep her friends wondering. So it wasn't all that practical.

She felt better, as she came to a decision, and grabbed her bag from where she had dumped it in the middle of the entrance hall, and headed towards the door.

She was going to head home and have a nice refreshing shower, and then she would maybe do a little patrolling. After that...then she would concern herself with the new problem she was facing. Or, maybe she wouldn't.

Maybe she could just ignore it until she lost her head...


	5. Chapter 4: New Friends and Old Habits

**Chapter 4**

**New Friends and Old Habits**

**(Methos and Buffy)**

Methos was in one hell of a mood. From the moment he'd left on this bloody trip not one single bloody thing had gone to plan. He hadn't even made it onto the original flight that he was meant to have been on, and that was after it had left the airport two hours late. He had missed it by ten bloody minutes. Then when he finally got to his destination he'd discovered that the hotel had double-booked his room on him, and the only other place with vacancies was an hour out of town.

All for one blasted auction.

Which he'd then discovered had been listed under the wrong date in the guide, and that everything had actually gone under the hammer last week. That wasn't to say that he hadn't managed to track down and acquire what he'd been after, but that was beside the point really.

And then, after all of that, just when he'd been about to fly back out, he'd gotten the phone call. He really, really wanted someone to yell at. But the phone had been hung up on him before he'd had the chance.

He had to go to Sunnydale, of all places.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, my friend," he muttered to himself, remembering when he'd thrown the line into a conversation he'd once had with a rather nice, if quite absent man who had called himself Shakespeare.

Unlike the rest of humanity, he saw no point in living his life under the guise of an illusion, pretending that this was the only reality. He'd seen the proof that there was more, with his own two eyes. He knew that other worlds existed, that magick was real, and that most of those things, which were thought of as myths, legends, and fairy stories today, tended to have a firm foundation in the distant past, as nightmares. Those, which didn't have roots in the past, were setting down their roots in the present.

Fairy tales were real, especially those of the Grim Brothers' variety. He'd not only met a werewolf in the forests of Germany, he'd also had to kill it before it could do the same to him.

And, as for the tale of the cannibal witch…he actually shivered at another memory. Some things just didn't belong. Not even he, back when he'd rode on the white horse, had been a foul as that thing. Death, for it, had been the only option. Besides, if the entire human race had fallen to it, then there would have been no point to his life-style any more.

It was impossible to take hope from those who had none. There was no fear of dieing, from those who would see the approach of Death as the only freedom that was available to them.

He'd also noticed that the beasts from those so-called myths and legends seemed to be piercing the barriers between worlds more frequently these days. He'd also noticed that the world tended to go in a cycle once every millennium. The barriers between worlds would periodically weaken to a point where they were almost none-existent, then a new influx of supernatural beasts would flood through, and the barriers would reform, and strengthen again. He still hadn't worked out why yet, although he did have several working theories.

Sunnydale. Bloody Sunny-hell, more like. He'd been in the area when it had first been erected, and he could honestly say that it had truly been hate at first site. He knew that it had been built directly over one of the Hell-mouths.

It had to be the weakest one, as well, of course. Couldn't have been the one in Philadelphia. Only a true idiot would want to get to Sunnydale. Only someone who was genuinely brain dead would actually want to settle there.

Or, he reminded himself, someone who had a very good reason to want to avoid the rest of the world. A lot of people were turned away from the place simply by the air of malice, which came from being so close to something that wasn't meant to be.

Of all the places that the young fools "old friend' could have been staying, why did it have to be that one?

Of course, it had to be at the height of the down cycle, too.

And, he'd had plans. Nothing extravagant, it was true but they'd still been plans. And he'd thought that they had been good plans, too. He had been going to catch a flight back home, and spend a couple of days simply enjoying being in the company of the young one.

It was nice, to have someone to look forward to being with again, and he was actually rather fun to be with. Or even just around, for that matter No way was that happening now though, and he wasn't particularly keen on going back to an empty house, either.

And besides, if he didn't divert his plans then the young fool was bound to wind up getting himself into a sticky situation. It was simply a given fact that he wouldn't be able to go to a place like that without trouble raising its ugly little head, and snapping along at his heals. It was one of the penalties of being a priest of Janus, of having a direct line to chaos magick. He was bound to wind up in trouble.

Heaving a loud, dramatic sigh because it seemed to fit the situation, Methos shook his head. Trouble and chaos followed in the young ones footsteps as surely as night would follow day. Once this was over and done with they were going to sit down and have a serious conversation.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX.**

When Buffy came in through the front door, she was moving as silently as she could, out of habit. It was a simple way of keeping in practice, and meant she didn't risk disturbing anyone who might be sleeping. Not that she expected there to be. Her mum was out of town, on an art-buying trip, and would be for probably the rest of the week. Buffy had insisted, when she left, that she take some time out for herself, to just relax. At least that was something, which she could be grateful for. It meant that she didn't have to go through the rigmarole of explaining why she'd dropped of the face of the town for the last three days.

And another thing that she had to be grateful for was the fact that she hadn't run into anyone that she knew (or didn't know for that matter) on the trip across town.

As she started to sort out a fresh change of clothes for when she'd finished with the shower she wasn't really surprised when the phone rang. The first time, she let it ring until the person gave up. When it went again, five minutes later she resigned herself and went to answer it, but not without a few curses which her mother truly would not have been happy to find out that she knew.

"Is that you Buffy? You're back home?" The obvious relief in Giles' voice was more than enough to send a pang of guilt through her. He was her Watcher. Even knowing what he did, of course he would worry. Just like her mum would always worry about her.

"Got back about fifteen minutes ago. I just really, really needed to get away for a bit, you know."

She was surprised that he didn't ask why she hadn't answered the first time.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do."

This time the prevalent tone in his voice was one of a deep sorrow. She had a feeling that the words were genuine, and that he really did know, and could relate. It was surprising, because she had never pictured Giles as have to get away from the world. He always seemed to be so comfortable with his position in it. She wasn't actually sure what to say.

Almost as if he had read he thoughts, he spoke again, "I was young once, as well, you know."

"Oh," it wasn't much, but it was all that she could thing of saying.

"What were your plans for the evening?

"I was going to get a change of clothes and something to eat, then head out and do a little patrolling around some of the cemeteries for a couple of hours. See if I can't find a big creep and ruin it's evening of fun plans. Maybe I'll even be able to come out feeling like peaches and cream."

He managed a brief chuckle at the expression, which he knew she had probably been aiming for. He knew that Buffy, like many Slayers before her, was not above venting through her work.

"I would appreciate it, were you to come by the library before you start, please. I've something which I'd like to give you."

Buffy bit back a small sigh, then the final part of his sentence registered with her, "Sure. What is it?"

"Something which an old friend gave to me a long time ago, which I think will be of far more use to you at this stage in your life. It's quite a special sword."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not. I happen to believe that it is just what you need."

"But, if it was given to you…"

"I happen to believe that it will be better of in your hands. And I'm sure the person who gave it to me would be delighted to know that it was being used."

"Thank-you."

It was hard for her to keep all of the emotion, which she had been trying to get a handle on over the last few days, out of her voice.

"It might take me a little while, though. I've got a couple of thing which I really need to see to first."

"I'll still be here."

Giles hung up the phone on his end, and she did the same. Then, feeling far older then her true age, her age, she simply stood for a few moments, looking at it, and doing a small breathing exercise which Giles had taught her.

Then she took the phone off the hook so she didn't have to deal with anyone else between now, and when she got to the library.


	6. Chapter 5: Writing of the Past

**Chapter 5**

**Writing of The Past**

**(Giles and Joyce)**

March the Twenty-Eighth, 1978.

_The withdrawal from being hooked into Chaos Magick, or having some drug or other constantly in my system, was absolute shit, but I'm finally through it. _

_Not quite all of it, perhaps, but at least, through the worst of it. Marcus says that there will always be a part of me that craves it, but that, I should be able to handle. Just as long as I don't give in to it, because he says that if there's a next time then it'll be twice as hard._

_And nor did it kill me, like a few people thought (and possibly even hoped) it may. I'm just glad that that smarmy bastard Travers didn't decide to oversee it himself. He's already told me enough times that the sodden mess I found myself in was entirely my own fault. He took far too much bloody satisfaction in my suffering. The way I felt, coming through it, I'm not entirely sure I would have been able to, or would have wanted to hold my temper, had he put himself in that position._

_Then again, mayhap he did wish to, but Father took my side against him for once. Either way..._

_If we hadn't stuffed that bloody summoning up that last time, then I'd still gladly be with them. If Fathers' cronies hadn't forced my Goddamned hand then I'd probably still be with them as well. I knew that the circumstances of the spell would make him more powerful._

_I should have kept my position, held my ground after I said no the first time that night. But I could never refuse Randal anything in the long run. Or Ethan. Couldn't refuse any of them, really._

_I just didn't realize how much more powerful the spell would be. What a fat bloody lot of use that excuse is now though._

_  
I still feel that there was a factor, which I didn't compensate for, which I didn't factor in to my calculations. There had to be something that I missed. Just don't have any bloody idea what it may have been. All I know is that it shouldn't have been able to come through that strongly._

_Eyghon shouldn't have been able to even take over, let alone twist Randal's magick to start the process of the rebirth._

_Attaching the Ritual to a Quickening-base should have made things less risky, not sent them out of bloody control. And I did compensate for the power-punch, which that Randal's pre-immortality would have given it._

_The reason we changed the base, which we worked the ritual from, was because we had to cancel out some of the deeper power, which Eyghon had started to accumulate._

_It shouldn't have happened like that. It just shouldn't have. _

_Why did it?_

_All that I know of it, is that it will be on my conscious, my soul, for the rest of my life._

_But as that smarmy bastard, Travers Snr keeps reminding me, I should be grateful that I still have one. _

_Is murder __always __wrong? Is it even really murder, when I'd surely be doing the world a favor by getting rid of him?_

_I miss my old friends._

_I don't spare a second thought for all those wild nights. Don't care about the rush, which came of possession, the high of the drugs, or the haze of the brew. I don't give a rats' arse about any of that any more._

_  
Gods, all I really miss is being with Ethan._

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX.**

(From Joyce Summers journal)

1st June 2001

_It's strange to think that Buffy has grown up so much, so fast. It seems as though it were only last week that I was carrying her, and her father was still alive.  
_

_I'm not sure if she was old enough to remember my marrying Hank. If she does, then she surely doesn't talk about it. Then again, nor do I._

_I think about him quite a lot still, and in particular around this time of the year. _

_Of course, that may only be because next week is the anniversary of his death._

_It doesn't seem as though it has been almost seventeen years since he stepped back inside for that last time. And I'm still dealing with, still working through the pain of his not being around. Of having lost him._

_He was such a . . .a genuine person. There were no illusions with him. He always spoke his mind. What you saw was what you got._

_And the connection I felt with him. That was above and beyond anything else I've ever felt before or since._

_It was enough to make me consider that the notion of there really being soul mates. With him around it wasn't as foolish an idea as it always seemed in those sappy romance books._

_Adam, I hope that wherever you are, looking down on Buffy and I, you're happy._


	7. Chapter 6: Uneasy Meetings

**Chapter 6**

**Uneasy Meetings**

(Duncan and Richie, Giles and Ethan)

Richie wasn't at all surprised when, three days after the events in the library, he was woken from a light sleep by a knock on his door. Nor was he surprised that when he approached he felt the warning buzz of the quickening, pulsing in his temples.

In fact, the only thing, which was surprising to him at all about this scenario, was that it had taken Duncan as long as it had to work out where the young man was living.

It was automatic, to reach out and grab his sword from the umbrella stand which was across the hall from the closet. The only reason that he was still alive was through caution.

Even though it wasn't often that Immortal visitors troubled him, he'd still had to deal with a couple before word had circulated enough that people knew to stay away.

Only one other still lived after having seen, and recognized him. And that was because the world truly would be a poorer place without him. And besides, he'd sworn, and had obviously kept his word, that he wouldn't tell anyone that he was alive, let alone in Sunnydale.

The knock sounded again, and to Richie's annoyance his voice came out rough, as though the words had been squeezed out, past a large blockage. That really wasn't the impression that he wanted to make.

No, he wanted to exude the aura of someone who was tough as nails. Of someone who didn't mind having to make a few heads roll in order to get what he wanted. In short, of someone who didn't need anyone in the world aside from he, and he alone.

"What do you want?"

"To talk."

_You're hard, you're tough, and you're strong._ Richie gave himself a small pep talk. He was also scared, and as tense as hell, but he didn't need to bring that into it. Those things held nothing that would encourage him.

"Well go on then. Talk," He said, quite calmly, to the closed door.

"Richard, please."

With a sigh which he knew inly he could hear, and a lot of effort to keep his hand steady, he undid the deadbolts at the top and bottom, removed the safety chain, flicked back the three catch-locks, and disengaged the holding spell, which kept any and all denizens of the night securely outside. He wasn't paranoid. He was simply…proactive.

Finally, he opened the door, and found himself face to face with an equally tense-looking Scott.

"Well," Richie tried to say, but found that he couldn't get the word out. He swallowed a couple of times, and tried again, this time with a lot more success.

"Well, are you going to come in, or you just going to stand here?"

As he asked, the question he also stepped to one side. Yet he also made it equally clear through his tone of voice, and stance, that he would seriously prefer if the Scott were to accept the latter.

Even though this was obvious Duncan still nodded his thanks and stepped past him, into the house.

Then he paused, and looked back at the young man, who gestured towards the room on his immediate right, still never letting his sword out of his grasp, "That's the sitting room. I'll be in shortly. I would tell you to make yourself at home, but in all honesty I'd rather if you didn't. I must admit that I'm hoping you won't be staying long enough to have to."

Duncan nodded. While he may not like the coldness that was practically radiating off the young man, the truth was that he was surprised he'd gotten in the door. And he did appreciate the honesty. At least with that he knew where he was standing. The dangerous people were the ones who smiled at you, looked you in the eye, and then went to claw them out.

"Thank-you," he said to the rapidly retreating back, and he truly was thankful. That he didn't have to look into those injured, hurt-puppy eyes for any longer, at this particular moment. Those eyes, and that expression, which were both, at the same moment begging for someone to take his hand and help, and yet also warning the world to stay away, that if provoked this one _would_ bite. Just like a beaten dog, with no friend in the world.

He headed into the sitting room and sat down on the edge of one of the chairs so that in case he'd read the situation wrong, and Richie did decide to go for him then at least he would have a fair chance to get away.

When the young man came back in, however, all that happened was that he sat down on the edge of the seat opposite, a glass of brandy in one hand, and his sword grasped between his knees for easy access. Just like Duncan, just in case.

The distrust that he could see made a pain stir within the depths of his chest.

As Richie took a small sip of his drink the visible tremble in his hand subsided, and he looked coolly at Duncan.

"You said you wanted to talk. So talk."

****

It was around 3 A.M when Ethan finally got into Sunnydale proper, having had to walk the couple of miles between the airport and the township, as it seemed that the car rental closed at midnight. Which was a wise idea, probably. People really were better off avoiding the creatures the prowled after midnight, especially in this area of the woods. He just wished he'd had the foresight to ring ahead and get a set of keys held at the counter for him.

The silence pressed against him like a shroud, surrounding him in a way which many other people would have found creepy, but which he actually took a mild comfort in. He felt a lot more at home moving from shadow to shadow, than he did walking down the street in broad daylight. Perhaps because he'd spent so much of his life flirting between the shadows, along that tiny line which divided good from evil, and light from darkness.

He wasn't actually evil in, or of himself. He was just chaotic. And because that quite often threw peoples plans off track the called it small evil. When he operated on a wider scale they simple called it proper evil. No one these days saw the beauty in chaos. Ripper had once upon a time, for a moment, which had been too brief by far, but even he had changed.

Just like the seasons around the world. Everything changed above it, but nothing actually changed enough to matter, when you looked under the surface.

Of course, that being said, he was the world, and the others were the ever-shifting seasons.

He snickered to himself.

_Everyone did always say that I had a large ego._

And here he was, comparing himself to the entire world. It did rather prove the point, if anyone had ever thought that it needed any proof in the first place.

He stopped outside Giles's door, and toyed with the idea of knocking for a few seconds.

Then a cold wind whistled past him, and he came up with an idea, which would be far more fun to implement, then either standing out here in the cold while waiting for Giles to answer, or nodding off while curled up on the front doorstep.

Reaching into his pocket he drew out a metal paperclip, which he twisted out of shape, and inserted it into the lock, wriggling it around. He felt a small flair of gratitude when it caught the tumble a few seconds later, because it had been far too long since he'd had a good excuse to put this particular skill into practise.

Turning the handle, he pushed the door smoothly open. At least, he did until the security chain stopped it short, a second later. Grumbling to himself, he pulled the door closed again, and reached out with a tendril of magick, in order to slip the chain off of its latch. That done, he proceeded with his plan and opened the door, stepping quietly inside, locking and chaining it behind himself once again.

With the familiar finger-flick, also done quietly, he summoned a tiny witch-light and headed for the lounge where he finally put his suit-case down, and pulled out a pillow and a couple of blankets which he spread out on the couch. Then he striped down to his boxers and settled himself on the couch, which he'd conveniently forgotten was just ten centimetres short of being comfortable. Sighing, he lifted his head and arranged the pillow so that, at least was supporting his neck properly.

Yet he still had a self-satisfied smile on his face as he drifted off to sleep. Because things were going to be very interesting tomorrow morning.

****

"Bloody hell!"

Ethan was brought rapidly to full awareness by the profanity, which had almost been yelled. There was a definite note of shock in that voice, as familiar to him as his own, that brought a little glee to him.

He obviously still had it in him.

With a lazy smile, in spite of the fact that his back was aching as though he were the princess whom had fallen asleep on the pea, he stretched and looked up at Giles who was standing in the doorway, book in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other.

"Good morning, dear," he sat up and his last blanket fell off of him, joining the other, which was already in a rumpled heap on the ground, "I see you bought me in a drink, as well."

Again he smiled, that same arrogant, self-sure smile which Giles had once adored, and yet now seemed to hate with an equal passion.

Before he had a chance to remind himself that, at this moment, he needed Ethan's' good will, with a deft, quick move he had thrown the still-full cup at him. Memories of the last time he had seen Ethan came to the forefront, fuelling his anger all the more.

However, he needn't have worried about it. With his habitual finger-flick and a tiny gesture of magick, he stopped the cup in mid-flight, and with another gesture he sent it causally drifting back the direction that it had come, tea which had come out of it in flight falling back into the cup as it passed under.

Ethan's grin stretched even further, as Giles, with an expression of exasperation on his face, snatched it out of the air where it was hovering rather insistently in front of him.

Giles nodded at the other man, and when he spoke there was only a tiny touch of envy in his voice, "I see you've improved."

"At the breaking in, or at the magick, or simply in the department of good looks?"

"Ah. All."

"Flattery. Rather _très charmant,_ my dear. I must admit that I do rather like it."

Giles sat down on the seat across from Ethan, "I take it you arrived last night?"

"It was rather more like this morning."

"I wasn't sure if you were coming or not. Truth is I wasn't even sure if that was your phone number any more."

"You think I would abandon the only piece of my family which I have left?"

"No, but…" The rest of Giles' sentence went unsaid, and he found himself wincing as he remembered the simple, efficient way in which the young, yet highly skilled Council Agent that he had contacted had thrown Ethan over his shoulder -And the words that his partner had told him, when he'd spoken.

_You'll help him?"_

"_You made the right choice, Rupert."_

"Yes, a rather interesting method of restraint, re-adjustment, and rehabilitation, that those old fools had. Quite effective in the restraint part of things in particular, if I don't say so myself."

"In all honesty, I didn't actually think that they would have been able to hold onto you. Certainly, not for the length of time that they managed to. It _was_ my belief that you had more skill then any of them on any given day of the week. Even with both hands tied behind your back."

Ethan tilted his head slightly to one side, surprised by the note in Giles' voice. Surely that couldn't be a note of apology that he could detect?

"Yes, well. Put a tap on my magick, didn't they? The second they were out of your sight. As you should have damn well known they would, considering the length of time they'd been after me for."

"If I'd actually known that they'd still had you…"

"Oh, save it, Rupert," Ethan snapped, "You wouldn't do anything that would risk your precarious position with them these days, even if I were _the _last surviving of your lovers in the world."

Ethan crossed his arms for a few seconds, conveying an air of extreme disapproval, "They say jump, and you flip through the darn hoop backwards, just like a trained dog."

"Come on. That's not true, and you know it."

"No, I don't. You'll have to prove it, I'm afraid."

"You sound extremely childish, when you speak like that."

"No more so than the next man."

Even though the banter was silly and pointless, and got them absolutely nowhere, they were still both enjoying it. It was a very familiar part of the time that they'd spent together, and to talk like this made Giles fell as comfortable as he would, lazing back in an old, favourite chair, in front of a blazing fire.

As Ethan rose to his feet and headed out to the kitchen he heard a startled gasp from Giles and he knew instantly why; the long, cruel scar, which cut down his right cheek, from his ear to his chin really was hard to miss. But there was none of satisfaction, which he thought he'd get from having Giles forced to revisit the only visible part of the damage, which he had caused to happen the last time they'd parted ways.

"My God. How…" then he caught himself, remembering bits and pieces of the fight which they'd had before he had restrained the other, and finally turned him over. And he could also remember getting extremely drunk with Ethan before hand. Really, it was no wonder that things had gotten so out of hand.

Ethan turned and simply glared at him. The scar made the glare seem more menacing then normal. There was no need for words, to get the point across this time. If he were to think about it, then Giles would know exactly how it happened.

He came back in to the lounge with a cup of tea grasped in his own hand, and seated himself down once again in the seat immediately opposite from his old friend.

Giles tried to help himself, but couldn't.

It was simply a part of him, to look Ethan over, his eyes lingering in certain places, with a curious mixture of affection, want, and tolerance, which he always experienced whenever he was in Rayne's propinquity for any period of time.

And Ethan had always loved the way it felt, to have someone checking him out. And at least the other small scars on his side and back, from his tackling of the magickal force field, which had been in place around his cell, were hidden from view. He'd had to learn how to carry himself so that they weren't instantly obvious.

"So, Ripper. You call me up, with no explanation, saying that I'm the only one who can help. I want to know what this is about."


	8. Chapter 7: A Small Answer

**A.N Links are to pictures of Buffy's Scimitar, and Ethan's Katana.**

**.com/albums/kk117/M_T_**

**.com/albums/kk117/M_T_**

** Also, the italics in this chapter, separated out by my XXX XXX XXX XXX scene break, are a flashback, and are also (surprise, surprise) slash... Oh, dear... If you are opposed, however, it can be glossed over. Well it's Giles and Ethan, folks. What _did_ you expect? And they've been on my case about the fact that neither of them gets _any_ fun. Which just isn't true, really. **

** Chapter 7**

** A Small Answer**

(Giles, Ethan and Buffy)

"It was after a lot of thought that I came to a possibility," Giles took a sip of his drink, and made himself meet Ethan's eye, "and I came to realise that there was a lot more behind _that_ ritual going wrong then any of us, at the time, realized."

"And this is going where?" Ethan sounded entirely unconcerned. Only a person who had known him a long time would have been able to see through it.

"That is…" Giles trailed off.

"Cut to the chase, Rupert, dear. I doubt you invited me here simply to fling hot tea at my face."

With certain reluctance about him he did.

"Were you adopted?"

The bark of laughter that exploded out of Ethan startled the both of them.

"Finally work it out, hm old friend?"

Then, just to make sure there was no doubt as to whether he had understood the question, he drew a Stanley Knife out of his bag which was sitting beside his seat, and cut deeply into his palm.

It was almost painful for Giles to watch as blue light played out of the wound, sealing it again.

"Your Council boys are truly old fashioned. They still believe in Capital Punishment, you know."

At this, Giles's eyes widened slightly.

"Especially once they decided it would be more trouble than it was worth, to hold on to me. But… I ah, I must admit, I did make things rather difficult for them."

Again, Giles turned his gaze to the cruel scar, which bisected Ethan's cheek.

"It never was in your nature to simply go along with things."

He closed his eyes to the reality of what was before him, escaping briefly to a far better time, inside his memories.

_**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX  
**_

_It is a cool, moonless night. There is what seems like a thousand stars above them, because tonight they are all out in the country, courtesy of Deirdre, the only one among them who had managed to get any dough that week. _

_And that is something, which only came to them because of what she has out here. Several large dope plants growing in the middle of a small clearing, shielded from the general public by magick._

_He rolls over to look at Ethan giggling weakly. All of them are out of their skulls. That plant is very potent. Quite likely, as well as the natural high which it offers, it has been boosted by magick also, just like the majority of their highs these days._

_Ethan tries to sit up, and manages to for only half a second, before he slumps over on top of Rupert, his head resting against the other boys' shoulder, his nose crushed against the hard muscle, which his shirt hides. It takes Giles a few tries to do what he wants to, and even then he doesn't have his usual finesse about it._

_He inelegantly grabs Ethan by the hair and raises his head from his shoulder, drawing his own up a little so that he can crush the other boys' lips to his own. He roughly shoves his tongue in between their joined lips, and reaches down with a questing hand to grasp him, feeling what he already knows will be there through the others far-too-tight jeans._

_Ethan gasps, and brings himself down, hard, grinding himself against Giles, crushing his cock against the other boy's hand._

_Giles growls from deep in his throat, as he grasps Ethan's' shoulder with his free hand, flipping over so that the younger boy is underneath him._

_With a hand that is only steady because of the practise that he's had, he loosens Ethan's belt, and draws his jeans down._

_As always, the other boy is naked underneath. He stopped wearing anything underneath when Giles, in his desperation, had literally ripped him out of his forth pair of boxers._

_Because of the drugs and whiskey that they nickied, flooding his system, Ethan can't muster the concentration to free Giles._

_With a gentle word he stops the others efforts, and takes over entirely, lowering his head to take the other boys cock between his lips. As he does so, he rubs a pair of fingers lightly over him, channelling a small burst of magick forwards, loving the way that Ethan's cock stiffens even more, and the way he arches upwards, driving his shaft against the back of Giles throat. Again, it is only practise that stops him from sputtering and choking._

_Yet all of the practise in the world can't keep a small tear from welling, as his body reacts to the sensation of a rough invasion._

_He runs his tongue up Ethan's length, drawing back a little as he does so, and then lightly runs along the hard shaft with his teeth. Ethan gasps, and can't help the small shiver which passes through him. His hand reaches down, to grab a handful of Giles' shoulder-length black hair, giving him a small connection to reality._

_It is ten minutes later, and Ethan is right on the brink, when Giles comes to a pause in his administrations and comes upwards to kiss Ethan with a burning, almost savage desperation, running his tongue over the others teeth, and nipping at his thin, sensual, lips._

_This is all that it takes to push Ethan over the edge, and Giles grins as the others fingers dig into his sides hard enough that he is sure there will be bruises later on. With a final, shuddering gasp he comes._

_"Oh, Ripper. My Ripper," his voice is soft, as though he doesn't want to break the spell that they've woven between themselves._

_As strange as it may seem to an outsider, neither one of them care about that fact that the others are here. This is nothing compared to what goes on, on some nights._

_As they part, gasping for breath, Ethan looks up at him, just as Giles looks down, affection, and a lazy cat-got-the-cream smile on his face. Well, this time he had. Literally._

_"Beautiful," Giles whispers, resting a gentle hand on the others' flushed cheek._

_"You are going to be the death of me, hon," Ethan mutters. Almost purrs._

_At that time neither of them realise how true that statement will turn out to be._

_**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX **  
_

"Rupert."

Giles had to blink and shake his head in order to snap himself back to the present.

The knock, which Ethan had been trying to draw his attention to, sounded at the door again, and he quickly cut his eyes to the other man, noticing the way a pair of fingers were insistently massaging at his temples, and the way his expression suddenly looked very strained.

"Would you care to tell me who the hell that is?" he growled, reaching down in order to remove a very wicked, yet at the same time, beautiful looking sword. It was quite clearly an antique. Giles didn't doubt that Ethan had used it enough to be comfortable with it, judging by the way he held it.

It was a black-bladed katana style weapon.

Giles rose to his feet, and headed towards the door, glancing out the peephole in order to make sure it was who he expected it to be. He felt relief, which he knew, would probably only be momentary, as he opened the door to let Buffy in.

"Who's here?" She asked, keeping her own discomfort off her face far more efficiently then Ethan had. He was pleased to note that she had taken his words about keeping a sword on her person at all times seriously.

His father had in fact, given the blade that he had given her to him on his seventeenth birthday. He didn't doubt the truth of it when he had said that the one who had given it to him would be glad to know that it was being put to good use. It was a Turkish scimitar, and a particularly good one, at that, perfectly weighted and balanced, and designed to be used, rather than hung on a wall like the pieces of crap that were sold to the general public these days.

"Relax," he said, the word directed to both Buffy and Ethan, one because he didn't need her bursting into the lounge in full battle mode, and the other because he didn't need him to come dashing out to his defense.

Either action could cause a fight, and the last thing that he needed was one of the two people that had a solid place in his heart, in one case in spite of his repeated denial, to be permanently dead. And the second to last thing that he needed was to have his bookshelves torn apart by the energy of a Quickening. Quite a lot of the volumes that he had acquired were irreplaceable.

The he showed Buffy through to the sitting room, and gestured for her to take a seat. She did so, still keeping a wary eye on Ethan, who, he was glad to see, had used his intuitive for once, by taking advantage of his stepping out to answer the door, in order to step back into his pants and hurriedly pull on the shirt that he had cast aside last night.

"Buffy, this is and old err, _friend _of mine, Ethan Rayne. Ethan Rayne, this is Buffy Summers; my Slayer."

Buffy wasn't used to having people check her out as obviously as Ethan was doing. She couldn't help a little shiver as she felt his cool brown eyes roving over her, locking her into his memory.

"So, this is your Slayer, Rupert? Are they all so exquisite?"

"Ethan," Giles' tone held a firm warning.

He rolled his eyes, giving Buffy a quick grin. Then he became serious again, "Been keeping secrets, Ripper. You never told me that it was possible for a Slayer to be Immortal."

"And that is where the problem comes in. There has never been another Slayer in any of the records that has become Immortal, least you count those that were tuned. And, as I'm sure you'd agree, that isn't true Immortality."

"No, it's not. No sense of self, no original personality, no soul."

Buffy looked back and forth between the two of them as the conversation took place around her.

"So, this is where it stands, Ethan. I have an Immortal Slayer on my hands, and that isn't something, which is meant to be possible."

"I can see where this is going, Rupert. Why don't you just out and ask, instead of dancing around the point, chum?"

The conversation paused, long enough that Buffy had a chance to slip a word in sideways, "I'm still not getting it. Why exactly did you bring a complete stranger… to me, anyway… into the picture?"

Giles looked over to Buffy, "I asked Ethan to come here, Buffy, because he is a more than proficient Sorcerer, and it is possible that he may prove advantageous to have around while we attempt to rectify your, err, _problem._"

"And the English version of that, without all the foot-notes, and connotations, is?"

It was Ethan who replied, this time, "I'm a damn good magician, if I don't say so myself, and Ripper here hopes that I may be able to do something about your being Immortal because I am, myself."

"Oh."

"So, Ethan."

The Chaos Mage frowned to himself in thought, memories of some of Rupert's old books, which he had taught himself to read, flashing before his eyes. There was a part of him which wanted to refuse Giles because it was the other mans fault that blue lightning danced out of his arm whenever he got a scratch, but a far more dominant part of him relished the idea of the challenge which had been set before him.

"I may be able to put something together, but I'll need full access to your book collection if I'm even going to attempt any such thing."

"Granted."

"And in the mean time I'm sure there are other things that I can do to help."

"Such as?" Giles prompted.

The expression that Ethan gave Giles; lips stretching wide into a grin, brown eyes dancing with that old mischief of his, and the way his gaze darted back and forth between the Slayer and Watcher, all told Giles that Ethan knew he was angling for trouble with his next comment, and that he had deducted that it would be well worth it.

"Well, I could always help to teach you how to handle and control a sword properly."

It took Buffy mere seconds to work out that he wasn't talking about the length of sharp, shiny metal, which Giles had given her.

She wrinkled her nose, "Can I say 'Eww'? That's just gross."

It was hard for Giles to mask the fact that he actually was mildly amused. The other man never beat around the bush, and while the suggestion was extremely vulgar to Buffy, he knew that, as far as Ethan was concerned it was a rather mild one.

It was with a little effort, to keep his expression straight, that Giles lent over and clipped his old friend about the ear, hard.

For the first time in a long time Ethan laughed.


	9. Chapter 8: Death Comes To Town

**Chapter 8**

**Death Comes To Town**

(Methos)

Methos was extremely grateful that he knew one person that was willing to live in Sunnydale whom could be trusted.

Without that to fall back on then he would have been even more annoyed then he currently was. He knew that he was too old to be letting little things like this get to him, but some times he just couldn't help it. That was why he preferred, for the most part, to keep to himself.

And besides, if he ever started to worry about all the things that he should have been too old to do…

With a box of beer balance precariously under one arm, and his sword seethed, at his side, he raised a fist and knocked.

It beat staying at a hotel.

He heard the profanities even before he felt the buzz of approach.

It was quite obvious that Richard wasn't in the best of moods, and for a few moments he toyed with the idea of hoping back in his car, and coming back at a later date.

Like, say, twenty years or so.

That ought to give the youth the time he needed to calm down. And it wasn't as though the young one didn't know where he lived. He could always make his own way back, whenever he'd finished with whatever it was that had brought him to Sunnydale in the first place.

But that would, in his opinion, be paramount to ringing the doorbell, and running away. Not to say that he hadn't done that a few times in the past, but…

Then the choice was take from him, as a livid-looking Richard opened the door with enough force to slam the handle back through the wall behind the door.

"Expecting someone?" Methos smiled at the boy, as he looked at the sword, half-risen in his direction.

"Oh. It's you," He lowered his weapon, and grabbed the box out of his grasp, tearing it open, and pulling out one of the cans, which he opened, before sculling back about half of it.

"Please, help yourself, I don't mind at all," Methos said, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

"Come on in," Richie called over his shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen, and put the beer in the fridge, fishing out a new can, and tossing it over his shoulder.

It was caught easily, and Methos raised an eyebrow, "Once again, I ask, expecting someone?"

"No," The young man growled under his breath.

"So, you're drinking before noon because?"

"Because you showed up with it," he bit.

"And?"

"Bloody MacLeod."

"I take it he found you?"

Richie sculled back the rest of the beer, and fished out a fresh one, which he obviously considered, to be enough of an answer.

"So, why've you came to town? 'Coz I seem to remember you saying that you were never coming back here."

"Ethan," he rolled his eyes, and took a mouthful of his own beer.

"Jeeze. Is it the bloody Gathering, come to town?"

"Na, just a pain in the ass."

"So, you and he are still?"

"Yes," He grinned at Richie, a fun, semi-mocking expression. He knew how uncomfortable the younger man was, with the subject, and he felt he was entitled to have a little fun, "It's fun. You should try it some time."

"I think I'll pass, if it's all the same to you."

"So," Methos settled him self on a stool, in front of the kitchen counter, "How exactly _did_ Duncan cotton on to you? Because I thought the Hellmouth exerted a natural field of repulsion towards any Immortal that drifted too close."

"Doesn't seem to be working any more. We've got a new Immortal in town. And, I guess there are so few new ones, that one springing up draws strangers, like ants to a damned beehive."

"Ah. Yes, that would explain it."

"You know," Richie looked at him, coolly, for a heartbeat, as he drained another quarter of a can, "You seem to know everything about me, whether I've mentioned it or not, and yet you've still never told me how you came across Rayne."

The question in the statement was obvious.

Methos looked towards the calendar, narrowing his eyes at it, as though it had committed some unrepeatable offence.

_The year is 1999, and the date, is January the 20th._

_He had tried to argue against what was going to happen today a dozen times already, as a nameless, faceless stranger, opposing the Council's most stringent policies._

_Needless to say, he had been ignored. It was one of the penalties from having been shifted sideways, from the Immortal-focused branch of the Watchers Council, to the British Slayer-focused branch. And he couldn't protest too strongly, or he would start to look suspicious._

_All he could do was work his way sideways again. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to do it._

_But there was a small mercy in it, even if it wasn't for him self._

_There was a young man, Pre-Immortal, whom had been sentenced to die today. And while he wasn't eager to be taking a student under wing, there seemed to be so few new Immortals coming into being these days, that one really was a commodity. _

_And besides, this particular one he'd spent time with, even if it hadn't particularly been on the best of terms, and he was one of the few people, mortal or not, that could actually understand his sense of humour._

_And he was a servant of Chaos, which would be particularly good to keep him on his toes._

_One thing that he isn't prepared for, after Rayne has been shot in the head, and taken to his place to recover, is his anger. With that one thing alone, his magick is fuelled, and he shatters out every window within a 10-meter proximity as he stirs, his Quickening doing its job for the first time in it's life._

_Another thing that he doesn't expect is the nightmares. Every night for the next week, Rayne doesn't say a single word, yet he wakes up every night, an unspoken scream on his lips. He knows, because the other man lashes out with his magick every time he is jolted awake._

_And another thing, once he's awake, is his tears._

_And there is nothing that can stop him from talking in his sleep._

_And it's always the same thing, over and over again._

_"Why?"_

_"But, I love you. Why can't you understand that?"_

_"Why are you doing this to me?"_

_"Can't you see how you hurt me?"_

_From all of his experience, Methos recognizes the signs of shock, and a deep, internal pain._

_And he knows that if he doesn't do something to jolt the young one out of it, then all that he will wind up as, is just another statistic. Just another headless body, and another Quickening added to the masses._

_He hasn't put in all of this time, as brief as it would seem to anyone else, to see his first student in over four hundred years disappear in a flash of blue lightning._

_So, when he's finally reached the end of his tether, when he feels that he can't take it any more, he waits until the young one is fast asleep, and settles him self behind him, an almost casual arm thrown over his side, as comfortable as is possible on the small single bed, which he's set up in one of the spare rooms of his small home._

_Well, relatively small, anyway._

_If nothing else, then at least he's making up for the last fourteen years spent with only his own company._

_Even with the savage scar marring his cheek, only a fool wouldn't notice that Rayne is attractive, with his lithe, wiry figure, thin, angular yet dominating features, and warm brown eyes, which seem to almost glow as though lit by some inner fire. And his every move is calculated, for the best effect, and least effort. To all appearances, he resembles a deadly predator, with its quarry in sight. _

_Or at least, he had moved like that before he drew his first new breath._

_He isn't surprised when Rayne jerks awake in his arms, a soft whimper in his throat. What does surprise him, however, is the way that he automatically rolls over, and buries his head against his chest for a few minutes, closing his eyes tight, before he looks up towards him, and brushes his lips against his own, and saying to him the first words that he's said in the last week._

_"Distract me, please. Make me forget."_

Richie had finished his last can of beer and started in on a new one.

"Why do I get the feeling that you just gave me a highly-edited version?"

"That would be because you do not need to know everything."

"Whatever," Richie shrugged, rose to his feet, and headed over to the fridge, grabbing out a plate with a half-eaten hamburger on it, dinner from last night, "Can I get you anything?"

"I'll pass, thanks. Considering I'm in Sunnyhell again, I know that I'm far too sober. So, what's the new kids name?"

He shoved his plate into the microwave, "Buffy. Buffy Summers."

Methos was stunned into silence, as another memory welled up and assaulted him.

_"I'll call her Buffy Summers. Buffy Anne Summers, after your mother, Annabelle."_

"Buffy _Anne _Summers?" He asked, in a shell-shocked tone.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

He didn't reply. He had seen Joyce, his lover at the time, pregnant with one Buffy Anne Summers. And she had sworn that she hadn't been with anyone else, other than him. As impossible as history had made it seem, maybe she _had_ been telling the truth.

"She's a Slayer, too."

Methos finished his beer in one large mouthful, and made a beeline towards where he knew Richie kept a bottle of whiskey.


	10. Chapter 9: Well, Wonders Never Cease

**Chapter 9**

**Well, Wonders Never Cease**

"You know," Ethan looked up from the book that he was pawing through, in Giles' direction, a genuine smile on his face, "I've been hanging around for two whole days now, and we still have yet to engage in a single argument."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

Giles took a sip from his cup of tea, glanced at the title of the book that Ethan had, and turned towards his office.

"I wonder how long it'll last?" he said, mildly, over his shoulder.

Two days, and not a single argument, yet that didn't mean that he couldn't feel the tension that was building. When it did happen, it was going to be huge. But that's the way it always was.

Even when they both appeared to be getting along, they were both preparing their defences.

As Giles sorted out another couple of books, which might be helpful, the bell rang. Seconds later Ethan was in the office, rummaging through the draws in an effort to find a case of aspirin.

It wasn't just Buffy's presence that gave him a nagging headache; it was also the tension that was almost palatable.

A few minutes after Ethan had taken the last of the aspirin and washed it down with the remnants of Giles' tea, taken without asking, of course, Buffy came into the library.

The first thing the he noticed was the smile on her face. That was something that he was glad to see. She'd had far too few reasons to smile about, lately.

"Hey Giles."

"Good afternoon, Buffy. I trust, from your expression, that your history exam wasn't quite as bad as you feared it would be."

"Yeah, turns out that it's all in the mind. Willow said that if you think 'A' then you get 'A". All about getting the positive energy flowing. So, I am just totally trying to breeze it," Then she looked towards the far side of library, "Ethan," she said, as she nodded in his direction.

"Buffy," He nodded at her in reply, before closing the book, setting it to one side, and picking out another one.

"Well, Buffy. There's not actually all that much for you to do here today, and I seem to remember you saying this morning that your mother was back in town. So, I was wondering if you mightn't like to head home and spend some time with her."

"But, what about my sword work and that?"

"Tomorrow is a Saturday. I'm sure that you can make up for it then."

"Hey, thanks Giles," then her smile spread a little wider, "and I heard that Jenny might be back from her teachery-type meeting thing in New York this afternoon as well, so I guess you want to spend a bit of time with her."

He couldn't help but glance towards Ethan out of the corner of his eye. The other man had instantly tensed. It had only lasted for a second, if that, but he knew, or at least, had known Ethan well enough in the past, to be able to spot it.

The second Buffy had left the library; Ethan closed the book with an audible snap, "Jenny? Nice name."

His voice was cold, and mocking.

"I'm going to the grocery store. We'll talk about this later. If you insist."

He walked out, effectively ending the fight before it had even begun.

Ethan scowled at the door, which was left swinging back and forth.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

Joyce had gone out for a short while, to drop some things off at her friend, Pat's place. As well as being a good friend, she also had a key to the gallery, and she would drop the new acquisitions off around there, and set them up. Usually it was something that Joyce would see to herself, but today she was looking forward to spending a nice, quiet evening with Buffy.

It had been a rather hectic week, and she was looking forward to an opportunity to just relax.

As she drove back, she caught sight of a figure that she was sure she would have recognized anywhere. Or, at least, she though she would.

Even though it had been sixteen years, and she knew that he had died in order to save her, she could have sworn that it was he.

_The year is 1985, and the date, is March 15__th__._

_The city is in the deadly grasp of an unshakeable heat wave._

_The home that they live in, at the moment, is a shared apartment building, because while she know that Adam comes from a particularly well-off family, and has, thanks to his inheritance, a rather nice estate here, she has never felt comfortable there. It's too large, and too…too... upper class for her to really relax. And she doesn't like that it's so far from the city, either._

_She prefers to have other people around._

_Especially now that she's pregnant. She has seen Adam looking at her sideways a few times, since she told him, but he never talks about it, not since she told him. If she didn't know any better, then she would say that he seems almost…disappointed._

_It's just after midnight when she wakes up. She isn't sure why, but she is instantly alert._

_Seconds later the door bursts open. _

_Adam had been out late at work tonight, and he's not actually due back for another two hours, but it is still he that comes crashing in, worry heavy in his expression. _

_As he comes in, so does the black smoke that is pouring out of apartment across the hall. _

_An eerie orange light dances on the far wall, and reflects off the window-glass. _

_He hurriedly takes off his top, and throws it in her direction._

"_Get out. Now."_

"_But, the Parkinson's…"_

_He grabs her by the shoulders, and sets her on her feet._

"_I'll check. You just worry about yourself."_

"_But…"_

"_Don't argue with me, Joyce! Think about the child."_

"_What about you?"_

_Her gives her a hurried kiss, on the cheek, before pushing her in the direction of the door, "I'll be fine. I'll get them out, if I can, then I'll meet up with you in the parking lot across from the street."_

_She nods, and wraps the top around her face, making sure that it covers her mouth and nose. Then she heads downstairs, and outside, looking back only once, just in time to see him kicking the door open, and disappearing into the flames which are ever-so steadily making their way forward._

_Three minutes drag by. Then Avery Parkinson, the heavily pregnant wife of Donald Parkinson makes it outside, coughing, and struggling to catch her breath. Seconds later, Donald himself gets out, with Cathy, one of his two young children grasped in his arms, and sits down in the middle of the concrete, a look of shock on his face._

"_What about Tanya?" Avery asks, panic in her voice._

"_Adam… Adam was carrying her. Oh, God…Oh, God…" he is rocking back and forth. The child crawls out of his grasp, and Joyce feels a stab of pain, and fear._

"_What happened? Tell me what happened!" she's yelling, even though she knows it's irrational._

"_The ceiling. It came down right on top of them."_

"_Adam!" she screams, running back towards the doorway, which now has flames lapping out of it. Avery grabs her by the shoulders, holding her back, even though she, too, is sobbing._

"_Don't be stupid, Joyce. He wouldn't want you to throw your life away. It's over."_

"_Oh, God," She fights wildly for a few moments. She doesn't want to believe it, even though she knows in her heart, that it's true. Then she gives up, and collapses to the ground struggling to simply keep breathing. The pain in her chest is overwhelming._

_A further five minutes pass, before the Fire Engine arrives, and with it, the Ambulance._

Joyce pressed the accelerator down a little further, and shot forward, but by the time she got to the corner that she had seen him – if it was him – go around, he was gone.

She took the next corner, and got back on the street that would take her home.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

Ethan had made his way back to the house, and picked out another couple of books, before grabbing a bottle of Rupert's bourbon out of the cupboard, pouring out a nip, and putting the radio onto top volume, on his favourite rock station. He knew that it would annoy Giles, and that it was probably petty, but that _was_ the whole point.

Grumbling to himself, he sat down in the chair, and open the more interesting looking of the two books, which went by the title of 'Mastering the Beasts of Fire.' It may not have been what he was ment to be going through, but he currently felt as though he had done enough research to last until at least until the end of the week.

He was just starting to get into the book, when the music was turned down to a volume that he had to strain to hear.

It wasn't really surprising that he hadn't heard Giles come back in.

Heaving a sigh, he closed the book, and made sure it was positioned so that Rupert couldn't read the spine. Then he looked up, and folded his arms across his chest, "Well? Who is this 'Jenny' of yours?"

"For one thing, she's not _mine_ as you see it. She is entirely her own person. And for another thing, I doubt you've been celibate for all of this time."

"That's besides the point."

"No, Ethan, that's precisely the point," He looked momentarily exasperated, "Honestly. It's been five years since the last time I saw you, since we last had anything, and if I remember rightly, we didn't part on that swell of a note. And lets not forget about the five years before that since we last had anything that resembled a proper relationship. And I very highly doubt that you are in a good position to be casting stones."

"Well, if you hadn't gift-wrapped me for the bleedin' council," Ethan snapped, narrowing his eyes, "You practically fucking hog-tied me, and handed me over."

"Well, if you hadn't been casting circles, and performing Summonings in the middle of my bloody living-room. My God, even the Vivalcelius, I could have dealt with. But you _always _take things too bloody far."

"Well, what do you expect? I thought you knew me. In the old days you'd have been in on the damn act."

"That…that there…" Giles threw up his hands, anger creeping into his tone, "that's what I always hated about you. You can never deal with the fact that the past is just that. The past. And you can never leave well enough alone."

"Because the past was _always _better. At least back in the old days I knew who you bloody were."

"People change. You need to grow up."

"Not like that. You don't fucking say you love someone one day, and then walk away the next."

"I didn't. I told you what I was doing, even bloody asked you to come. And you just brushed me off."

"I did not! I JUST…"

"Just. Just. It's always another 'just' from you. You don't have the faintest understanding of compromise. Everything always had to be on your bloody terms."

It was to Giles' amazement that Ethan closed his eyes, and drew a couple of deep, steady breaths. When he opened his eyes again he looked infinitely calmer, "No, Rupert. Not everything."

He was mystified by the sudden change in Ethan's tone, particularly as he knew that the other man _had_ been spoiling for a decent fight.

He caught the puzzlement in Giles' as he rose and headed towards the bathroom, "It's not you. I just don't particularly feel like getting the shit kicked out of me tonight. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower."

As he heard the water start to run, he found himself shaking his head. There was still so much of the man that he had fallen for all those years ago. Even then, he could never sit still, or stay on the same track.

But he had mellowed, and focused himself towards the destiny that he had tried so hard to run from in his youth. While, on the other hand, Ethan hadn't changed in the slightest.

And change was fundamental to survival. In Giles' opinion, that was why things hadn't lasted.

Ethan stood under the water, with his head tilted back. In the early days of his Immortality, he'd taken a lot of cold showers, because they helped to focus and sooth him, and even now, it was still an effective technique.

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Even though Rupert my have missed it, he had still gotten the last word in. And that was as effective as a victory for him.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXXf**

Buffy looked at her mom's half-eaten dinner, then down to her own, before speaking, "Hey, what's up? You seem so, I don't know, distant. What's eating at you?"

Joyce looked back at her, and blinked a couple of times, "Well…"


	11. Chapter 10: Truths Almost Told, Secrets

**Chapter 10**

**Truths Almost Told, Secrets Almost Kept**

(Buffy and Methos, Ethan and Giles)

_Buffy looked at her mom's half-eaten dinner, then down to her own, before speaking, "Hey, what's up? You seem so, I don't know, distant. What's eating at you?"_

_Joyce looked back at her, and blinked a couple of times, "Well…"_

"It's nothing, really. It's silly. I just…I thought I saw someone today, whom I haven't seen in a long time, and I guess…I guess it just put me out a bit, is all."

"Nah-ah. You just _don't_ do the whole distant-silent type thing. It's just not you. There has to be more to it then that."

"No, not really. It just got me thinking, that's all."

"Oh. You sure? Coz…"

"Yes Buffy, I'm certain."

The rest of the evening meal was passed in a companionable silence, simply enjoying the rare evening peace.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

_The pounding of hoof-beats echo through the earth, and on the horizon line, a white horse pauses and rears up on its hind legs. It comes back down, and starts to gallop again, the rider moving smoothly with the mount. It is a beautiful thing to watch, a smoothness born from centuries of practice._

_Buffy knows that it is centuries, because even from here she can feel the unsettling quiver in the pit of her stomach, which is caused by the response of the Quickening._

_The rider urges the horse forward, faster and faster, and as it closes the distance, she can see an Ivanhoe sword strapped to his side, and she can see the exhaustion now, in the way the horse runs. The quiver in her stomach worsens, and a new pair of riders comes into view. The man mounted on the white, spins the horse, draws his weapon, and takes one pass at the pair, before riding in her direction again._

_He is close enough now; that she should be able to make out his features, but all that she can see is a black void when she looks towards him._

_Blue lightning crackles and flairs on the horizon, and even thought she shouldn't be able to, she can feel energy racing through the earth, just like she can feel the pounding hooves. _

_The rider is coming directly towards her now, and she still can't see whom it is. A storm breaks, directly overhead, even though the sky is still blue. Rain pounds around her, soaking her._

_One of the new horses screams, and it sounds like a wraith from her worst nightmares, and a flash of lightning strikes directly behind the white rider._

_She can hear a voice, in her mind as well as in her ears. _

_"Be wary Slayer. For it is the white rider come, and the death of a thousand more follow where his shadow falls."_

_A massive black-furred wolf watches it all unfolding, from the distant horizon, through eyes, which hold so much more then simply bestial hunger._

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

The alarm shrieked in her ear, stirring her from sleep, and she opened her eyes to see the sunlight filtering in through a small gap in the curtains.

Buffy woke, and dressed, and headed down to the kitchen, to drop a couple of pop-tarts into the toaster.

"Morning, mom," she said, as she grabbed a glass of orange juice from off the kitchen counter, and sat down, "anything interesting in the agenda?"

"I've got a new display to finish setting up, and then I was going to get a bit of house-work done."

"Sounds like fun."

Joyce simply looked at her, "Well, it doesn't exactly do it's self."

At that moment the toaster popped, and Buffy snatched the pop-tarts out of the air, throwing one directly into her mouth, and taking a large bite.

A few minutes later, she had a long, thin bag at her side, and she was out the door.

This time she managed to make it as far as the corner turning towards Giles' apartment without incident, and without picking up on a presence. She knew it was too good to last.

Ever since she had found out about her bloody _gift_ it seemed that no one could stay away, and today was no exception.

She felt him well before she saw him, a presence which was by far stronger then any that she ever felt in her brief Immortality. She hadn't even realized that it was possible for one Quickening-presence to be stronger then another. She hadn't felt any difference between anyone else that she had met.

She looked up, instantly tense. No churches or any other form of holy ground nearby. Then he came into view.

_Okay, so not what I expected._

For one whom radiated such a strong presence he looked so…so normal.

He was tall, and thin, had short dark hair, an angular face, and dark brown eyes. Pretty generic, really. She had been expecting some giant muscle-bound, leather-clad warrior. Even though she had learned with demons that appearance wasn't half of it.

He stood at the end of the street, with his arms crossed over his chest, "So, here she stands before me. The one whom breaks every rule of Immortality simply by existing."

Buffy shrugged, as she looked him over, "So sue me. I'm not exactly known for playing by the rules."

Something about this must have struck his as funny, because his mouth twitched at the sides.

As she drew level with him, because she had to pass by him to get to her destination, he extended a hand, "Adam Pierson."

"Buffy Summers."

It was on the tip of his tongue to say _I know_, but he didn't, because he had no idea what Joyce had told her about him. The fact that his name didn't appear to register, spoke volumes. For a few moments he considered turning and walking out of her life again, right then and there, for both of their sake. He knew that it would be the intelligent thing to do, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to get to know this impossible girl – Slayer, born Immortal, his own flesh and blood.

He fell into step beside her.

She turned to look at him, and threw up her hands into the air, "Am I emitting some kind of weird radar that is attracting every Immortal within a twenty mile radius, or something like that?"

He raised an eyebrow, "I'd hope not, but stranger things have happened."

Buffy turned up the path towards Giles's apartment, and had taken several steps in the direction of door when she felt a hand grasping her elbow. It was instinct for her to spin, sending a free elbow in the direction of Adam's head. Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the speed with which he responded, easily catching the elbow in mid-flight. And when she went for a kick, she was even less prepared for a leg to sweep out and catch behind the one leg that was left on the ground, dropping her quite efficiently.

"Holy shit," She said, as she laid on the grass, breath knocked out of her, and looking up at him.

"I was going to say walk with me, but you're obviously _not_ feeling hospitable," he turned and headed back down the path, "I _will_ catch you later."

"Hey," she called after him, "how the hell did you do that?"

"Experience." He said over his shoulder.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

***Fifteen minutes earlier***

It was too bloody quiet. Once upon a time, Ethan had enjoyed a little peace and quiet, but since he'd spent two years held by the Council, he had grown to hate it. Something about noise almost seemed to reaffirm that he was really here, that he still actually existed.

Dropping to his knees, he began to go through Giles's old L. P's.

There was Molly Hatchet, half a dozen different Bowie titles, roughly twenty different Queen albums, including a couple of bootlegs. And that was all good, but none of it was what he really felt like listening to. Elton John – nope; New York Dolls – he wasn't even sure what that was even doing here, as it was his; Steppen Wolf – Definitely not today. British Steel by Judas Priest sat beside Best of Van Halen. Then he stopped flicking through them.

"Ah-ha," he said, softly to himself, "I see you did keep it."

It was The Stranger, by Billy Joel. He grabbed the album cover by the sides, and slipped it smoothly out, pausing once he had freed it, to read the pen on the cover.

_Wishing you a Happy Birthday Rupert. Hope you like it – took a while to find something good. Love, as always, Ethan._

He turned the power on, on the old record player, and put the record on, starting off with the title song, which was one track in. Then he sat down, able to relax, and far too easily slipped back into the pattern that he had developed over the last few days.

Reading, reading, and more reading, while the lyrics of 'The Stranger' lodged into the background of his thought.

_"Well we all have a face  
__That we hide away forever  
__And we take them out and show ourselves  
__When everyone is gone…"_

For a few moments he actually zoned out. This entire situation felt so familiar that he could have been back in the early seventies, helping research some obscure spell for a ritual later on that week.

_"Well we all fall in love  
__But we disregard the danger  
__Though we keep so many secrets  
__There are some we never tell  
__Why were you so surprised that you never saw the stranger?  
__Did you ever let your lover  
__See the stranger in yourself?_

By the time the record had finished playing out, he figured that he done enough research over the last few day to last him until the end of the week. And if Rupert didn't agree with that train of thought, then he knew exactly what he could do with it.

After looking around for a few moments he found Ripper's old guitar just where it had always been left. He'd well and truly had enough of research for the day. Any more and he was certain that his brain was going to stark leaking out from his ears.

So, heading back to the lounge he sat down on the couch, and began to fiddle around with the guitar, plucking at this string and that, until it was in tune once again. As he did this the record that he had been listening to finished playing, and the arm lifted up, taking the needle back to the start.

He closed his eyes, picking a half-remembered tune out of his memory, and began to sing softly, playing as he did so, fingers automatically going to here, and there, and there. Memories, which were almost overwhelming, danced in his mind, in perfect time with the tune.

Ripper's warm hand covering the back of his, fingers twined through, placing this finger here, and that one there. Stroke at the strings, and make sure that you remember where you're at, but relax with it, too. Both work, and play at the same time.

He began to sing, under his breath. Not a song that Ripper had taught him, but one that he had played a lot, whenever he had started to feel down and out, or lonely.

_"Here I am  
__Playing with those memories again  
__And just when I thought time had set me free  
__Those thoughts of you kept haunting me."_

Taking a deep breath, head tilted back, eyes closed. Find the right tune.

_"Holding you  
__A feeling I never out-grew  
__Though each and every part of me has tried  
__Only you can fill that space inside  
__So there's no sense pretending  
__My heart, it's not mending  
__Just when I though I was over you..."_

Heard the sound of a light footstep, on the floor of the hall, which, if he hadn't been alert for, he would have missed. He stopped singing, but his fingers kept on moving, and he opened his eyes, in order to watch Rupert approaching.

"You do know you are infinitely better at dancing, than you ever were at singing?"

For a few seconds Giles glared at his feet, which he'd dared to rest on the coffee table in front of the couch. Then he sat down beside Ethan.

"Surely you must remember that I never danced alone?"

Focusing most of his attentions on what his fingers were doing, but still, he had to ask.

"Why me, Rupert? Surely there aren't so few Immortals in the world that I was the only one you could turn to. Why make it so much more difficult for me, by saying that you need my help, when we both know how this is going to end?"

Giles took a deep breath, which he held for a few seconds. He had truly, never considered being anything less than honest with Ethan. He hadn't though past the fact. Hadn't considered the way things might end, with both of them ever more damaged and hurt for it.

Had though that he would be able to stay cool and distant, aloft, with Ethan in his sight, and memories of what the other man was capable of in the surface of his mind.

His voice was surprisingly gentle, almost hesitant, as he replied.

"Because I _have_ missed you."

There. He'd said it now. Waited for Ethan to brush it off, to throw it back in his face, as he had done with all other announcements of devotion in their wild youths.

Ethan stopped playing, and put the guitar down to one side. Extended a newly free hand, in order to rest it on Rupert's cheek.

Giles tilted his head slightly, towards the warm, gentle, yet callused and scared hand, which in his memory, had remained as smooth as the day they'd first met, Ethan young and innocent, untouched by the magick which would scar them both, and in entirely different ways.

Shifted a little closer, and Ethan tilted his back a little, closed his eyes again. The feeling of Rupert's breathing, warm, on his cheek, on his lips, so familiar, and reassuring.

Giles close enough now, that as he inhales he can smell that scent which is so uniquely _Ethan._ Smoke and fine whiskey, and salty sweat. And above all of that another sent, almost sticky and treacle-sweet. Absorbing, yet not overpowering, simply highlighting what is already present, what is already there. Stirring more memories, of long nights in each other's arms, whispered words of adoration, which faded in the cold light of morning, and some of the best sex that Giles had ever had. It is this, which is the scent of Ethan's magick, throbbing just above, and yet in the same moment, below everything here, and remembered better than all else. It was this that he had once longed for, and this that he had missed.

He leaned a little closer, heart beating almost painfully fast, and for the first time in over five years, he found himself seconds away from kissing Ethan with a tenderness, which neither of them have ever admitted to, unless it had been in the darkness of the night, when he had been sure that the other wasn't awake to hear.

Even the last time they had come together and screwed, Giles had twisted himself away from the possibility of a kiss, the gesture seeming far too tender, and too intimate for what had been between them at that particular moment.

And as he lent over to close that final, tiny space between them, he heard the door-handle turning. How the hell could he have forgotten to lock it?

"Damn it!" Giles snarled, and stared to draw back, but before he could fully disengage Jenny came in.

Ethan laughed, but there was no actual humour in it, and his voice, when he spoke sounded defeated.

"Well, this isn't awkward at all," he growled, sarcasm heavy in his words.

Ethan looked coolly at her, before he rose from the couch, and practically stalked out of the room, pausing in the doorway, "Well, I can see the two of you have much to discuss. I'll be seeing you, Ripper. Got to get myself a hotel for the next few nights."

His stance betrayed none of the anger that Giles knew the other was struggling to keep a hold on.

The only thing that gave him away was the force with which he slammed the door behind himself, shaking, and almost shattering the glass in a nearby windowpane.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

As Buffy reached forward to turn the handle Ethan came storming out, slamming the door behind him, and shoved past Buffy.

Then he paused at the edge of the gate for a few seconds, and took of in a run, in the direction that she had just watched Adam disappear in.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

Ethan didn't know why he was so…dismayed at the turn of events. After all, Giles had pre-warned him that he was seeing someone. All that he knew was that he had never felt quite this hopeless.

He could feel the sweeping, overpowering Quickening that always announced Methos's presence, and it was he, that he was running to catch. It was he, whom, seconds later, grasped him by the shoulders as he went to strike out at him with his magick, having to do something to relieve the hollow, empty burn in his chest. And it was he, whom drew him against his chest in the middle of the street, not caring about where they were, or about anyone that might see.

It had been a long time since the ancient had cared what others thought of him.

"What's wrong?"

It was he, whom listened to Ethan's stuttering explanation.

"This may not come as a surprise," he said, dryly, "but you will survive," then his tone became softer, almost gentle, "You'll survive."


	12. Chapter 11: Revelations and Farewells

**Chapter 11**

**Revelations and Farewells**

(Giles and Jenny, Joyce, Methos and Buffy)

Giles watched him go, feeling a rather acute mixture of amazement, and frustration. One part of him wanted to throw up his hands and scream, and the other part was in awe of how well Ethan had actually handled him self. It would have taken a lot, for the other to walk away rather then strike out. A few years ago, Ethan wouldn't have even hesitated about allowing his anger free reign.

Giles showed his own remarkable self-control, as he forced himself to close his eyes, and inhale, then exhale, slowly, and deeply.

"Jenny," He swallowed, and it was almost audible, in the silence, which felt as though it would have to be cut with a knife in order to be penetrated, "I…ah…I wasn't expecting…you."

"I…I can tell."

She looked at him for a few moments, as though unsure of what, precisely, to say. Then, she shifted, awkwardly, and looked away, putting her left hand into her pocket. Giles caught a glimpse of a mark on her wrist, when the sleave moved up a little, but she pulled it down too quickly for him to be able to see what it actually was.

When she spoke, it was in a rush, as though the words were stumbling over one another in a wild bid for freedom, "I came to say that I'm being transferred, from Sunnydale. I was thinking about turning it down, but…well…"

"I'm sorry. It's just…I've known Ethan since I was nineteen, and he was fifteen, and…I didn't plan for any of that…I don't think…I didn't think…this shouldn't influence your decision. It…that is…I won't allow it to happen again…"

"Rupert," she looked at him again, "no, Rupert. It's better, I think, if I do go. I…I wasn't really given a choice in the matter, anyway. And I saw the way you were looking after him, even as he was walking away."

"I don't…I wasn't…"

"Yes, you do. I'm not blind, Rupert, and I'm not naive. You _do_ care, no matter what you say. You…you have a lot to deal with, and I think it would be better if I weren't around while you did. I…I hope I see you again."

As she turned, Giles slumped down onto the couch, and put his head in his hand, closing his eyes. She said she had seen the way he had looked after Ethan. But he had seen the hard lines in Ethan's stance, the barley contained rage, the determined set of his shoulders. It didn't take a genius to see that he hadn't been planning to come back.

The door opened again, and for a few seconds he allowed himself to hope.

"Giles, what's going on?"

He opened his eyes, "Buffy," he sighed.

"I see Ethan storming out, and then Jenny follows minutes later, with and expression that I can't even begin to decipher. What's up?"

"It doesn't matter. Just…just go, please."

"Obviously, it does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be so…mopey-looking."

"Just go."

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, and took a stance, "No. Talk to me, Giles."

"You wouldn't understand. "

"Try me."

"Get out and give me some space."

Slowly she turned away, a hurt expression on her face, "I guess I'll see you later, then."

"Yes, Buffy. Later."

As she walked back out, closing the door behind her, he muttered to him self, "Hopefully much later."

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

Ethan had gone back to Richards place with Methos. The only thing that he wanted to do was get out of the town, but that seemed as though it were a non-option, because for some inscrutable reason Methos wanted to stay.

Once he had him there, he sat him down, with a can of beer, and grasped his chin, tilting his head back so that he could look into his eyes. Ethan struck at the hand, and twisted away.

"Fuck off."

"When was the last piece of serious magick you worked?"

"Doesn't bloody matter," he growled, "I don't care."

"Yes, it does matter. You're irrational, because you're going into withdrawal."

"Am not."

Although, admittedly, the last time he had tapped into any serious power had been over a month ago. It was no surprise, really, that he was feeling as washed out as he was. And it probably had something to do with the killer migraines that he'd been getting lately, as well.

"Looked at you self in the mirror lately?

Ethan simply glared at him. He had a feeling that he knew what he would see. Brown eyes shot through with traces of grey, and black, possibly half-glazed; pale skin, exhaustion - all of the visible signs of a serious magick-based withdrawal.

Not attractive in the least.

"I don't care," he snarled again, "if it weren't for magick, then I wouldn't be in this damned mess in the first place."

"You may not care," Methos said in that tone of voice, which ment that this was the ultimatum, because when everything was side and done it was pointless to argue with an irrational Chaos Mage at the height of withdrawal, "but I do. And that is why, this afternoon, you are going to be sitting your sorry arse down, and getting some serious business done."

"I don't want to."

"I wasn't aware that I had given you an option. And besides, the process would kill you some time within the next month, and frankly, I haven't got the patience to put up with your bitching until it does."

"Fine," he grumbled, giving in.

Then he smiled, that bloody sultry expression that never failed to send a rush straight to his loins. And the young one just knew it, too.

"Tell me, Methos. What do I get for being on my best behaviour?"

He laughed, and drew him into his chest, lowering his head to catch those thin, almost feminine lips with his own. He knew that at least it would smooth things over a little.

It was an hour, and one change of cloths later, before he left again, allowing Ethan to start with his preparation.

His feet automatically carried him in the direction that Richard had pointed out as being towards Buffy's home.

He wasn't particularly surprised to run into her after having covered several blocks.

"Good afternoon, Buffy," he said warmly, as he fell into step beside he, just as he had that morning. He _was_ feeling good.

She shrugged, "Maybe for some."

"Mind if I walk with you?"

"Do I mind? Yes. Do I think that my opinion will _actually_ make a difference? Very debatable."

"Smart girl," he smiled, "There's an old factory not far from here, if you wanted a decent work-out."

She nodded, "That doesn't actually sound like that bad of an idea. I've a feeling, if your power is anything to judge by, that if you actually wanted my head, then I'd have been dead before I saw you."

"Like I said before. Smart."

"I've got a few things to grab from home first, though."

"I'm not going to stop you."

The silence, which fell between them, was actually surprisingly companionable. It lasted right up until Buffy turned up the path to her house.

Which was at the exact same moment as Joyce's' car turned into the drive. A second later there was a screeching of brakes, and the car door opened, and slammed shut behind one very wary looking Joyce Summers.

"Adam Pierson?"

Her voice was hesitant.

He turned.

"Ah. I believe that the technical term is 'busted'."

"What…what are you doing here? No, strike that. What are you doing alive, at all?"

"Mom. How do you know Adam?"

She carried on, as though she hadn't heard her. If she had, then she certainly hadn't taken it in.

"I saw them carry you out. You were dead, damn it. I saw _you_."

"Joyce."

"Don't you bloody 'Joyce' me. What the hell are you? No person can come back from the dead. Not with injuries like that, and look untouched. Not even after seventeen years."

Buffy looked from Adam, to her mom, and back again, trying to make sense of what was going on.

"What the hell is going on here?" It took a few second to realise that it was her whom was yelling.

Joyce chuckled, in disbelief, "I see you've already met her."

"Yes. And I see that you didn't tell her."

"Well, how was I meant to put it?" she looked squarely at Buffy, " oh, Buffy, by the way, your father died before you were born, in a fire, and now, somehow, he's standing before me."

"MY FATHER?" She spun towards Adam, "How the hell can you be my father? Immortals can't even conceive."

"I don't know."

This time it was Joyce that was on the wrong foot, "What do you mean by 'Immortals can't conceive?' What in the world is an Immortal?"

Adam momentarily closed his eyes. When he opened them again, it was to find both of the Summers women glaring at him. Not for the first time in his life, he found himself grateful that it took more than a glare to behead.

"I would suggest, that for all of our sakes, we take this conversation in doors."

As Buffy trailed the two adults in doors she felt numb.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

"So, technically, I am dead. And I have been for…let's just say a long time. And it tends to be a rule that the dead cannot conceive life. That was why I disagreed with the possibility that Buffy…that she might be mine. In all the years that I've been around, I've never heard of it happening before."

"And you _have _to go around chopping off other peoples_ heads _in order to stay alive?"

"Not very frequently these days, but yes, sometimes it does come down to that. A lot of people respect age, because skill tends to came hand in hand with it."

"If I hadn't seen you when you were pulled out of the rubble…if I hadn't see that then I'd be on the phone to have you locked up. I'm…I'm still not sure that I believe you."

In reply, he went into the kitchen, and found the longest, sharpest knife in the drawer. "Now, this isn't a trick knife, is it?" He held the blade out for inspection.

Joyce slowly shook her head. Then she watched as he plunged the knife deep into the flesh near his elbow, and ran it down towards his wrist, wincing slightly. Just because it wasn't going to scar, that didn't prevent it from hurting. As he came closer to his hand, he drew the blade out, and held his arm out to her so that she could see properly. She watched as blue light spiralled out of the wound, causing the flesh to…to flow back together, and heal seamlessly.

He moved quickly, catching her as she fainted.

Seconds later, of her own free will, Buffy sunk to the ground herself.

"I can't believe it. It's just not possible."


	13. Chapter 12: A New Threat

**Chapter 12**

**A New Threat**

"I just don't get why you didn't tell me."

"Yes, well, it seems that you didn't exactly tell me everything about you life either."

Buffy paced across the floor, to the far side of the lounge, before spinning on her heel, turning back, and repeating the whole process all over again.

"Well, if someone had randomly told you that every fairy-tale monster that you've ever heard of is real, and that your only daughter had to fight them in order to save the world every so often what would you have said in response?"

It had been a day for revelations all round. Buffy reached the end of her course again, and spun back again.

"I'd have thought that they were mad," she laughed weakly to herself, "That they'd forgotten to take their medication this morning. But this entire situation is mad."

"Yeah? Well, welcome to my life. But it usually doesn't get quite this bad."

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

"Well, that went better that I expected."

Methos was talking to him self, in a dry tone. He had left the Summers woman to sort thing out between themselves, with the promise, to both of them, that he would be back reasonably early tomorrow morning. Some times a little space was the best thing that a person could give to another. And both of them had a lot to process. When he had forced Joyce's hand, he had, in his own way, forced Buffy's. It was only fair that everyone was on even footing.

Well, almost even, anyway. They both still knew him as Adam. And that was the way that it was going to stay.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

In a not-so distant lair, underground, a pack of five beasts had gathered. They weren't particularly large, standing at around the height of an average man, and they were extremely lean, but they had claws and teeth that could tear flesh from bone in a matter of seconds, cold yellow eyes, pebbly armoured lizard-like skin, reptilian snouts, and broad, sweeping tails.

They differed by means of height, and colouring. The one that seemed to be in a leadership capacity was the shortest of the bunch, and it's almost black hide was covered with numerous scars. It was also missing a final half-foot of tail, and several of the teeth, which hung over the outside of its maw, were missing. Teeth didn't matter all that much, even though it made it difficult for it to bite for long enough to immobilize it's prey with it's venomous bite. Teeth would grow back, so the one that had caused him to lose them still lived, even though it was missing an entire hand, taken in reparation. The one that had gotten his tail, however, was long dead, because that would never grow back.

Even as he listened, he glanced towards the only female in this district, which was curled up around her massive, swollen stomach, sleeping. Even though the space of a large playground separated her from the males, he could still see her stomach shifting and rolling, being pushed against from the inside, out.

They communicated with one another via the means of growls, snarls, and body language.

The largest of the beasts, which was new to the pack lowered its head, to revel the back of its neck, a sign of submission, before it spoke.

_But we need them, or we can never do it. We need them, and we need them now. We should have them already. _

Another spoke up, looking the leader in the eye as it did so. _Yes, why don't we have them already? You said that we were following the ancient in order to claim the sacrifices that we needed._

A second later he lost the eye that he had used to meet the leaders, screaming as he did so, sounding like a dying lamb. While the loss hurt like anything, at least it would grow back. It was lucky that the leader hadn't ripped his throat out. He had done so, for less, before, and probably would have if he hadn't needed all four of them.

_You think to challenge me? Are you capable of reading the stars, of sharing in their knowledge?_

The other tilted its head to one side. _No, but…_

The leader drew himself up to his full height. _You DO NOT question me. To question me is to challenge me. Next time you will not be so lucky, for I will simply take your life, rather than your eye. We wait until I say the time is right to strike. We wait, and we will get what we need. We wait, and we will have the Immortality that we need to sacrifice in order to re-awaken our king, in our grasp. We wait, and he will purge this realm of the worst of the human infestation, and the rest will come before us, for play and for pleasure._

The others were focused on him, intent and attentive.

Then the youngest of the pack members that counted spoke up. _Can we hunt? We haven't hunted since we arrived here._

_Yes, _he growled, moving his head on a sinuous neck, to focus on the new speaker, whom was quick to bow his head, _yes. _Then he tilted his head back to peer through the grating, which separated them from the world above ground, looking at the stars, and listening intently. _Tonight, the world above is safe. The protector of the vermin, and the prosecutor of or kind, is …preoccupied. Tonight we claim our new hunting ground._

He called a pair of low ranking pack members, that hadn't been permitted to speak, or watch, to his side with a low pitched whistling call.

_Yes, master?_ The braver of the two spoke.

_Ready the way to aboveground. Tonight we hunt._

They both spoke in unison, acknowledging his command.

_Yes. As you will it._

The excitement among the small pack was tangible.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

Ethan felt damned good. His headache had fully passed, his muscles no longer throbbed in protest when he went to stretch, and he was a lot calmer and more centred within himself. Not to mention the power that was throbbing through him, racing around his body with every heartbeat.

The magically induced high was a much a part of the rush as the power, which was why he didn't often go out after tapping into any serious power.

But the rush had left him restless. The rush _always_ left him restless.

And, while he may not have been carrying a stake, or holly water, or a cross (which he considered the last resort of the weak), he wasn't exactly defenceless. His skill with a sword was improving almost daily, and he always had magick to fall back on if things got too hairy.

He grinned to himself as he made his way down the rapidly darkening street, letting his feet guide the way. After having traversed several blocks he realized that he was heading in the direction of the wharfs.

_A good place to go _he mused to himself.

Once upon a time he had used to spend ages standing, entranced by the ocean. It was as savage, moody, and quick to change as any Chaos Mage, going from warm, welcoming, and peaceful on moment, to being dark and threatening, a killer the next. And underneath teemed thousands upon thousands of hidden pathways, and unimagined secrets.

It was quite good, for making a person feel insignificant. It used to have that effect on him. These days, however, he was practised enough to raise a storm of unimaginable proportion simply by concentrating a fraction of his power in the right way, towards the right place. Some of his best meditations had been sitting on a dark beach, looking out towards the grey rolling waves.

He finally entered the harbour district, and had started to drift in the general direction of the water, when he heard the sound of metal scraping on concrete.

He tried to ignore it, but it got more insistent. _Probably some fool newborn rising_ he told himself, even as he looked around.

But there was no newborn, eyes yellowed and teeth extended, looking for a quick snack, Instead, he spotted a hand which was almost reptilian, the fingers tipped with savage looking yellowed claws, reaching up to grab the lip of the concrete, and pull whatever it belonged to, above ground.

The speed that it moved with, as it pulled it's self up, and burst into a sprint, was truly something to witness. As it ran, its powerful sinuous muscles rippled under it's lose, pebbly hide. While it was obvious from its build, that it could stand if it so desired to, it seemed to be more sure footed on all fours, like some giant cat.

"Well, that's something that I haven't seen before," he said, as he watched, interestedly.

As another of the beasts pulled its self up, the original one lunged, throwing its thin body into the air. And quite clearly, it was flying in his direction.

"Crap," Ethan muttered, as he braced himself for the impact, "this is going to hurt."

True to his prediction, it hit him squarely, lashing out with claws and teeth, trying to sink its fangs into him. He fell back, rolling with the beast, flipping them both arse over keel, so that he came out on top. The other one of the two began to stalk towards then.

Ethan struck the one that he was on top of hard, slamming its jaws together and snapping its head back with a painful sounding 'click', wincing as he felt a knuckle pop, as it caught the creature's jawbone.

He shook his hand, and cursed again. _Well, that's what you get for resorting to physical violence._

The other one closed the distance between Ethan and his opponent, stalking past him and swinging back around, clearly waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Ethan reached inwards to the power, which was just under his skin, and lashed out with the first curse that came to mind. Seconds later, the beast that he had been straddling practically melted under him, dumping him roughly on the ground. As he had used the magick to his advantage, the other beast tensed. Now, it was dashing back towards the entrance to the sewers, apparently having marked him as unsuitable prey.

He found himself shaking off the ridiculously noble notion of descending into the sewers in pursuit, and dragging out a live specimen, kicking and screaming, for Ripper to perform his research on. But, a long time ago he had made a promise to himself not to go rushing needlessly into danger. Now, even though he was Immortal, he still tried to stick to that, because there were any number of monsters that could strip flesh from the bone in seconds, and chase that down with a nice side-helping of steaming organs, brain included. He had a feeling that that would be just as effective as a nice, clean decapitation, and infinitely more painful.

_Still, _he looked at the puddle of steaming whatever-it-was; _I probably shouldn't have used an Entropy-based curse._

Then he felt the buzz of the Quickening, moving up his side, and glanced down to glare at his torn shirt - his _favourite_ torn shirt, as a matter of fact.

_On the other hand, maybe that thing got exactly what it deserved._

And, besides, he could always describe it well enough. He was never going to forget the stench of its breath for as long as he lived.

He thought he heard another sound, and spun in its direction, only to see a piece of cardboard being blown slowly along the street.

_Jumping at bloody shadows, now, Rayne_, he admonished himself.

Sighing, he headed to the end of the wharf, and lowered himself to a cross-legged position, closing his eyes, in an attempt to settle his jumpy mind.

First thing tomorrow morning, he would head over to Giles. That should give him the time that he needed, to settle things with his lady-friend.

He couldn't really be angry with him, even though he was wishing that she had walked in a couple of hours later. Because when all was said and done, he _had_ found someone else, as well. It wouldn't have been good for either of them, if things had gone any further.

He sighed, again, but this time it was wistful.

_You just keep telling yourself that, Rayne._


	14. Chapter 13: To Know What I Know

**Chapter 13**

**To Know What I Know**

Extract from "The Book Of Soul", published in England, 1824, and translated into Modern English by Adrian Giles, in 1954.

_Oh and to know what I know, of the bond which stirs to life between spirits, kindred and complementary, living and existing in perfect synch with one another. For how many other men can claim to be able to look into the eyes of another, and see the truth of the bond which will be fired?_

_It is said that love and affection have neither rhyme, nor reason, and I have seen that this is so. And nor is there any way to predict when one soul will find it's kindred._

_There is no pattern, and there is no recognizable purpose. A kindred spirit can be in any walk of life. It is not bound by the rule of regularity, or the laws of averages. _

_Male is not automatically bonded to female, and nor is light bound to light, or darkness, to darkness. The kindred find, in their partner, their perfect balance. _

_And, of the things that can come about when that balance is obtained, they would rewrite everything you know. They are unpredictable, and unforeseeable. _

_It is in finding this balance that even the impossible can become possible, and the most amazing of creatures can be sired. _

_While it is widely known that it was a demon's blood, which went into releasing the gifts of the first Slayer, it is far less widely known that this creature was born of a female daemon, and her human soul mate. It is because it the one that held the power was the bearer, rather than the sire, that the gifts, which flow through the Slayer's line, are reserved solely for the females of the bloodline. _

_Thanks to the power of the bond between kindred spirits, I have witnessed children born to the coupling of the mortal race, and the supernatural race far more often that I was prepared for._

_Even, once, long ago, I heard whisper of the birth of an Immortal child, even though, rumour tells, that it met it's death before the age of a single year._

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

Jenny glared at the telephone, with murder in her eyes, before she slowly raised it to her ear again, "I don't like it. I don't like it at all."

The reply was no more than she expected, "You don't have to like it. You just have to do it."

"But…"

"You know your duty."

Without saying so much as goodbye, she slammed the receiver down.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

After the events of last night, there was no way that he had been able to get any sleep. Which was why he had found himself heading out to his care, at twelve o'clock that night, hopping in, and simply driving, in an effort to stop thinking. Or, at the very least, give some order to his thoughts.

For the longest amount of time, he had gone without thinking about Ethan so much as once, during his waking hours, and if he had ever dreamed of him, then he truly didn't remember it.

But it had been true; that Ethan had been the first one that he turned to the moment that he found a situation that he felt he was incapable of dealing with. He had, at the time, considered it common sense.

But now, sense didn't seem to come very far into the equation at all, and if he was honest with a part of himself, then he had been trying to find an excuse to get in touch with his old friend for a long time.

Five years, to be exact. Or, to put it another way, even since he had seen him taken away by the Council operative whom had arrived to collect him.

He was confused, that was probably the most accurate word for it.

Seeing Jenny walking out had been painful. More painful then he would have predicted.

But watching Ethan walking out had been even more so.

He had considered his attraction to Ethan nothing more than a hopeless, pointless, and above all, ridiculous, young crush. All of the books that he had read, had stated absent fathers, and overbearing mothers as the reason behind sexual attraction between men. Reaching out for the absent fathers love, and finding a retroaction in a close male friend.

He knew, now, that that was nowhere near the truth.

But still…

He had considered himself over his attraction to Ethan. He had wanted to be over it.

But, it seemed he wasn't as far past it as it had seemed. Yesterday afternoon had gone a long was towards proving that.

It should never have happened, things should never have gotten as far away from him as they had.

He had known, damn it, that she had been back. Buffy had said as much the day before, and yet he had still found himself millimetres, and seconds away from kissing Ethan.

_Totally out of hand._

Now, he didn't have either of them around.

And, truth be told, he wasn't sure, if he had to make the choice, which one he would rather have.

He found the car drifting into the parking lot of a pub.

A couple of drinks, on his own, in what had once been one of his favourite pubs when he had first come to Sunnydale wouldn't do him any harm.

As he ordered, he found himself wondering if Ethan had realised that he was slipping into withdrawal. Maybe if he had pointed that out, then things would have gone smoother. But he hadn't wanted the temptation of Ethan, calling upon powerful magick, in his home, which was free from the taint of darkness.

And besides, Ethan's addiction to magick could drive anyone mad. He would be far better off without it.

Still, his making plans for others had never gone smoothly before, and there was absolutely no reason why they should have started going smoothly now.

There had been no mystical upheaval, no fate-bound decree that said it had to work this time.

And another thing, that he felt himself feeling guilty over, now, was his abrupt dismissal of Buffy's presence earlier on. What had happened certainly hadn't been her fault, and yet he had still brushed her off, not wanting her to see his pain.

That was something that he had always kept to himself before, that he had never shared with anyone, because there were enough people in this world already that were shouldering pieces of his burdens.

After he'd had a couple of beers, he got himself a room in the on-suite bed and breakfast, because he couldn't be bothered facing the drive back home right then and there. And beside, he was far less likely to be discovered here, and he still wanted a little more time to ponder on recent events.

He chuckled to himself, grimly, as he laid himself down to sleep. If it had been a decade ago then he wouldn't have hesitated to pick up some pretty young thing in the bar, and use that as a distraction, rather then work things through.

Those had been the days.

Closing his eyes he turned over to face the wall.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

Duncan wasn't sure where exactly he was, or what had happened. All he was aware of at the moment was that he had a splitting headache, and he couldn't move.

All that he knew, was that minutes after having left Richard's place that night, something had come at him out of the darkness quicker than he could react to it, and knocked him out cold.

As he stirred, and started to waken again, he felt razor-sharp teeth driving into his shoulder, and white-hot fire spreading throughout his body.

As he fell back into darkness again, he finally got a proper look at his abductor. He had never seen anything quite like it in his life before.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

Kal-mudi was sick of waiting for the pack leaders order, which was why he had moved in when he had found himself presented with the chance to take one of the Undying. He didn't feel that not being able to read the stars would inhibit the plan.

After all, his sire hadn't had the gift of foresight, and yet he had still been able to do what had to be done.

All that he had to do was keep the one that he had taken quiet.

But this time, he wasn't fast enough with sinking his teeth into the flesh of the Undying one, and he made a sound.

He would have to move fast, in order to spill the necessary blood upon the altar.

He drew his lips back from his fangs, and was seconds away from tearing the Undying one's throat out, and severing the spinal column with his claws, when he felt teeth driving into the back of his own neck. He froze, instantly.

The leader, Kali-taron tightened his jaws, to the point where he could feel the delicate bones in his throat just starting to grind together. Then he let go, and moved back a fraction of an inch.

_{After everything that I have revealed, you still dare to defy me?}_

He turned to look; yet he dared not break the ultimate rule. He would _never_ even think about meeting the leaders gaze.

_{No, not defy you; so much as provide the others with security. They may not dare to say anything, but they fear. You are untried, and they remain restless, master.}_

_{Fool!}_

He took the stinging strike to his chest with as much grace as he could muster.

_{But…}_

_{If the sacrifices are unwilling, then you set our my plan back another mortal century. And truly, I tire of waiting. Already, I have worked towards our goal for the last six mortal centuries.}_

_{But how in this world, or ours, do you plan to convince not just one, but instead, two of the Undying to willingly lay down their lives, and give up their gift, in order to restore our king?}_

_{I told you, trust me. I know what is coming, and I know how to manipulate events to bend to favour us, and us alone.}_

Kal-mudi snarled, yet bowed, low.

In response to this reaction, Kali-taron grinned at him, which was, in its own way even worse than his threats.

_{Good. You will be rewarded, I assure you. Your role, when the time comes, will be one that many would lay down their lives to have the privilege of performing. You will be pivotal.} _

The younger one looked down towards the freshly limp Immortal, which was laid on the stone before him, and fought the urge to lick at his lips.

_{What ought I do with this one, then?}_

_{Let him waken, and run. Soon enough he will be free game, as will all of his brethren.} _

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

Buffy rose reasonably early the next morning, and turned the radio on, softly, because she really didn't feel like getting out of bed straight away. In fact, truth be told, she would have quite liked to roll over, and go back to sleep.

But the early morning sunlight was streaming in through the curtains, which she had forgotten to pull last night, because she'd had a lot of other things on her mind.

And that made that impossible.

As she listened to the six o'clock news, she felt her insides go cold. She hadn't patrolled last night, and now the news was reporting that there had been two skeletons discovered in the early hours of this morning, stripped down to the bone.

**XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX XXX**

From where Ethan was staying, the sun seemed almost reluctant to rise that morning. Even when he had wakened at nine o'clock the next morning, the sky was such a sold gray that he could have almost convinced himself that it was still night.

Even after he had gotten back last night, after the small scuffle that he had gotten into, he had only slept in ten-minute patches here and there. And, once again, he had spent the night alone, although this time it had been in Richard's spare double bed. He had absolutely no idea where Methos had vanished to last night. All that he could say for certain was that he hadn't been there.

But it wasn't as though it were the first time that he had vanished without so much as a word. If any one had ever asked, then he would have said that he was actually getting used to it. The other man was just as unpredictable as Giles had always been.

Still, even with the threatening weather, he wore a tee shirt. It was simply a part of his nature, to be contradictory. Even when he knew that he was bound to wind up regretting it later.

He made his way directly to Rupert's place, keeping the promise that he had made to himself last night. Even if he didn't agree with all of the other's actions, he still deserved to have some form of warning about the new beasties that had moved in on the Hellmouth.

The one thing that didn't go with his plans was the fact that there was no one home.

That really did rather annoy him, especially when he had felt that he was prepared to be generous. Here he was, with what was very possibly important information to share, and Giles had gone and cleared off.

He was well and truly pissed.

The Watcher could discover, and dispose of this new threat without him, as far as he was concerned, because his not being there was a final straw.


	15. Chapter 14: To Question

**Chapter 14**

**To Question What You Thought You Knew**

Duncan moved with as much speed as he could muster, which, considering the fact that he still couldn't feel his feet or fingers, was actually quite a lot. And his head pounded, as though he'd been poisoned, which wasn't actually all that far from the truth, either.

When he'd come to this time, it had been to find him self in the middle of on of the many cemeteries around the town. It was odd, how he'd never realised that there were far more than an average young town should have.

But by now, he had come to the conclusion that there was far more to this town than what met the eye. In all of his life he had never seen beasts like the ones that had been around when he'd woken.

As he made it to the street, he was just in time to see a battered-looking Citron come to a stop directly beside him.

The man, Giles, if his memory was functioning correctly, rolled down the window, and looked at him, "You look like you've been through hell and back."

The statement was plain, blunt, and to the point. And Duncan appreciated that, because he really wasn't in the mood to beat around the bush.

"I feel like I have been, too."

He was repaying the favour of directness, because something, some eternal instinct told him that there was far more to this man than what met the eye. And it was his intuition, which had saved him several times in the past from far less permanent deaths, so it was something that he trusted.

The Brit gestured to the passenger door with his free hand, "You look like you could use a strong cup of tea. Or coffee, if I've any lying around."

Without any complaint what so ever, because he really did want to find out what was going on here, he climbed in, for the short drive.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

As soon as he had been let in to the house, and sat down with a nice black coffee, to set him on his feet again, he asked the one question that was really bugging him.

"What's up with this town? I thought, over the extent of my life, that I had seen just about everything that there _was_ to see, but I seem to find myself mistaken."

"How old are you, exactly, Mr…MacLeod, was it?"

"Five hundred; give or take a couple of years."

"And I'd imagine, in your time, that you've heard a lot of rumours?"

Duncan chuckled to him self, remembering a couple of them. He'd found the one about a portal that led to hell, sitting under Cleveland particularly amusing.

"Yes."

"In the old days this town was known as "Boca del Inferno."

"Eloquent. The Mouth of Hell."

"Precisely. This entire town is situated directly above a portal that leads into hell. It is a convergence point for dark and mystical energy, and acts as a…a calling card, if you will, for supernaturally enhanced beasts, or demons, if you feel more comfortable with the term."

Duncan blinked at him, as he tried to relocate his ability to talk.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, but was probably only a minute, if it was even that long, he did.

"You're…you're serious, aren't you?"

"Entirely. And I'd assume, from the state that you are in this morning, that you've had a run-in with one of our less then human guests."

"Tell me, just one more thing."

Giles nodded, "Certainly. Within reason, of course."

"Why isn't this place a ghost-town?"

The Watcher shook his head, in response, "If you can work that out, the I would appreciate it if you were to inform me. Now, can you describe what it was that you encountered?"

"It was…humanoid. Stood on two legs, scaled skin, teeth and claws like knives. Dark yellow eyes, intelligence in them, very strong, very fast. The one that took me was on me before I could respond to it."

"Took you, as in your life, or?"

"No, it, whatever it was, actually grabbed me and took me. I came to, somewhere underground, with it leaning over me. Then I woke up this morning, in the cemetery."

"Do you know whether it tried to kill you?"

"No, I don't think so. My top was torn where it bit me, and there was a little blood on it, around that area, but that seemed to be the extent of it."

"Hmm. Very interesting."

He noted that the Brit had taken his glasses of, and was polishing them with the edge of his shirt.

Duncan raided an eyebrow; "You call things like that 'interesting'?"

"That it didn't kill you, that it didn't attempt to kill you. Usually, when a demon takes someone alive, then the statutory reason behind such an action is a sacrifice."

Duncan declined a refill of his cup, and stood, "I need to get some rest, if you'll excuse me."

"Of course."

Giles rose, and unlatched his door, saying goodbye to the man, who was looking a lot steadier on his feet as he made his way out, and down the street.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Joyce slipped out to the kitchen, to get a couple of aspirin, because she had been awake all night, with thoughts turning over in her head. She felt like she was at a lose end.

Over the space of fifteen minutes, or half a hour, or however long it had been, everything that she had thought she'd known had been turned inside out, and upside down, and inverted, and any other form of expression that she could think of.

She honestly didn't know what to do.

The man that she had once considered her heart and soul, the father of her daughter had walked back into her life as though he'd simply stepped out to go to the shops.

He hadn't aged so much as a single day, ever though it had been almost eighteen years, and he never would. And she had found out that she hadn't known a thing about him, not really. He had said he was old, but she didn't know how old, and she wasn't really sure that she wanted to.

As she stood, steering at the glass of water that she had just run, she felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

"Stupid," she muttered to herself, "so stupid."

She allowed herself to remember a fragment of the conversation last night.

"_Is anything that you ever told me true?"_

_Adam looked back at her, meeting her eyes with that cool, brown gaze, which she had always thought looked as though it had seen far more than one man ever ought to have, in one lifetime. That gaze, which she had always said reminded her of an old mans gaze; eyes that looked as though they had seen forever._

_All of a sudden she began to giggle, wildly._

_Hysterical, she thought to herself. I'm going hysterical; I'm cracking up._

_He had grasped her, gently, by the shoulders, but she drew back, tugging away from him, either choosing to ignore, or not notice the tiny flash of pain in her eyes, which was something that he would usually never have allowed to seep through his defences._

"_You ask me if anything is true. I did…I do love you. I did, and I always have. I didn't come back, because I didn't want to hurt you."_

"_And tell me this, Adam Pierson. How am I meant to believe you? How can I possibly trust you, now?"_

_She laughed, again._

"_My God, how do I even know that Adam is your real name?"_

_He had just looked back at her, his composure back in place._

She swallowed back the aspirin, and made her way towards the bathroom, to have a nice, long shower. Maybe she would feel a little better after that. There was certainly no way that she could feel any worse.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

After Giles had finished his third cup tea, he had made up his mind. His little home was too quiet for him to be able to concentrate.

It was almost funny. There had been any number of days when he would have longed for the peace and quiet, enjoyed the time spent on his own, with only his books to keep him company. Any number of days when he would have gladly shown the man that he had once jokingly dubbed 'the biggest pain in the arse in all of England' the door.

And yet he had shown him self the door yesterday, and all that Giles could muster was guilt. He regretted having allowed his old friend to leave on the note that he had; he never _should_ have allowed it, even in spite of what had almost happened.

He had only spent four days under the same roof as the other man, and yet in that time he had already grown used to the music being played too loud; the jug always being boiled; cold showers half the time. He had grown used to the petty arguments, and jokes that he wasn't the only one laughing at.

The sense of having someone else in the same home as him, looking up only to see someone else that was capable of reading an original German, or Sumerian text without needing the translation at their side.

He had never though that it would be so easy to fall back into his old patterns, yet he had, an it had been almost as though he had never left the, in spite of the fact that it had been five years since he had even considered them.

No, not five years - it had been far longer than that. Since he had actually relaxed, and enjoyed the others company, since they had actually been comfortable with one another. It had been a destructive relation for an age, before they had actually parted. The sort of relationship, which would have wound up killing one, or possibly both of them, if they had kept at it, and in a round-about way, it actually had killed Ethan, because it _had_ been Giles phone-call that'd had him wind up in the Council's hands.

He had no idea how, if it had been him, he would have even been able to consider forgiving something like that. But that, right there, was the essence of Ethan.

He could be as petty as hell; he could work out a thousand small ways to get under a persons skin; he could show jealousy like it was going out of fashion, and yet, he wouldn't; couldn't, carry a grudge to save him self.

Almost his exact opposite, he had always felt as though he were looking into a distorted mirror whenever he came face to face with Ethan.

With a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips he remembered one of the good times, when it had been just them; the rest of their small group out for the day, doing goodness knew what, when he and Ethan had, instead, elected to spend the morning lazing in what had became _their_ bed.

_Ethan considered rising before ten in the morning totally unjust, and out of the question. Giles, however, had found his old school habits harder to break than he thought they would be, and so is usually up, and active by seven thirty at the latest._

_This morning is different, though. It is Ethan's birthday; or at least, the day that he had claimed as his birthday, because his parents couldn't have cared any less about giving their only son a day that would spoil him. Giles had felt that this was the height of cruelty, however, and so one of the first things that Giles had made him do was pick out one day of the year that meant something him. _

_It had been no surprise, what so ever, that the day he had picked had been the anniversary of the first time that they had slept together; and also the day that both of them had ever done anything more then masturbating, or kissing._

_He grinned, remembering Ethan looking at him, with wonder in his eyes, "Gods, Rupes. You make me feel like I actually matter."_

"_Of course you matter, you burke."_

_This morning, Ethan lazily raised his head from Giles shoulder, and smiled._

"_You pretend to be so tough, Ripper, but you are…"_

_He was cut off, as Giles kissed him, and slipped a skilled tongue between his lips; Ethan kissed back enthusiastically, and, just when it was getting interesting Giles broke it off._

"_So, you were saying?"_

"_You made me forget," he blushed, slightly._

"_I am?" he prompted._

"_Ahh. You, as I was saying, are a bloody romantic. You pretend to be all leather, and hard lines, but you have the heart of a poet. If we were alone more often, then some times I'd swear that you'd start singing me limericks. Possibly spouting rhyming couplets, too."_

_Giles had done his best to look affronted, "You keep up that kind of talk, Rayne," he said, tapping a finger on his bare chest, "and I'll show you just how hard I can be - a romantic, indeed. What did you spice your smoke up with last night?"_

"_Oh, please do, show me," then he actually batted his eyelashes. _

_Giles rolled his eyes. It ought to have been a crime for a male to have eyelashes that were quite that long._

_Ethan ran a light hand up the inside of his thigh, "You know I love it when you talk tough, when you get rough with me. My Ripper."_

_Giles pushed him over, onto his back, and nipped at his thin lips, grinning, "You asked for it."_

As Giles shook of the memories, he found that he was already sitting in his car, with one had on the ignition.

_Now, if I were Ethan then where would I go?_

It was almost scary how easy it was to answer this question. He drove for a few minutes, and when he hopped out of the car he was unsurprised to see Ethan sitting on the edge of the breakwater, his back turned to the world.

He tried for a light tone of voice, and conversation

"I wouldn't dangle my toes in the water, not if I were you. We've got merrows, the majority of the Sunnydale High swim team, and teeny-boppers, and they've all be known to enter the water on occasion."

Ethan turned, and glanced over his shoulder, before crossing his arms, and turning back towards the water.

"Mmph. Ripper. What the hell did you want, this time? To use me, and make your lady friend jealous again?"

Giles sighed, as he crouched beside Ethan. This was obviously going to be harder than he thought.

Neither of them saw the eyes, narrowed in their direction, watching.


	16. Chapter 15:Indefensible Actions

**Chapter 15**

**Indefensible Actions, and Telling Truths**

Giles smiled at him, as cool as he could manage.

"Breakfast?" he asked.

"Breakfast?" Ethan sounded surprised, "But it's almost ten thirty."

"So, of course, you've eaten," Giles stated in a dry tone.

Ethan steeled himself, and shot him a look, which was cold, and hard, and filled with lingering, half-hidden pain, before he rose to his feet, and stalked off, pausing only to look back over his shoulder.

"Don't you get it? I want _nothing_ more to do with you. I'm sick of being at your goddamned beck and call. All it's ever caused me is fucking pain. I don't even know why I listened to you in the first place. All I want is for you to sod off."

It was all that Giles could do, to watch him walking away again.

It seemed that Ethan had learnt how to carry a grudge after all.

In the seconds before Ethan twisted away again Giles found himself looking at that cruel scar again. If the truth were to be told, he was surprised that it wasn't something that had happened far sooner.

This time he couldn't help but remember, as he was trapped in the grasp of the emotional pain, how exactly their final encounter had ended.

_June 8__th__, 1996_

_Ethan was through with being turned away, and denied, and ignored. He was sick of his ex-lover saying that what they'd had, had been nothing._

_It was as though all the times he'd found the courage within himself, to say the words 'I love you', or 'I care for you' had been thrown back in his face._

_Which was why, when he found out that Ripper was in town, after having stumbled into him, in the supermarket, he had gone directly to the nearest pub, and started drinking. He didn't care that his 'old friend' had told him to stay out of his life._

_Well actually, no. That wasn't true._

_He did care, and far too much._

_It wasn't all that often that he got drunk with a mission._

_But tonight, he'd had shot, after shot, and he'd gone straight past the 'everyone is my friend' stage, the 'nostalgic sorrow' stage, and the 'angry riotousness' stage, and straight on to the 'damn the consequences' stage._

_If Rupert was going to walk away forever, then he wouldn't be doing it before he'd has his say._

_So it was, that with a half-full bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a huge helping of Dutch courage inside, that he headed out, and made his was to the pokey little apartment that he knew from past experience was where his old friend liked to hole up whenever he was in London these days._

_It took only minutes to reach the place, and he burst in, with fire in his eyes, and a blast of magick, which knocked the door off it's hinges, and half-way across the room._

_Giles was on his feet, and in front of the gap where the door had been, instantly._

_Ethan missed the tiny flash of hope, which danced into his eyes, before he surveyed the wreckage that was before him, the shattered remnants of the door. He saw the anger that it was replaced with, however._

"_What the hell?" Giles growled at him. Then he spotted the half-empty bottle grasped in his hand, "You're drunk."_

"_What the hell does it matter to you, if I'm sober, or not?"_

_Ethan narrowed his eyes, hands balling into fists, and took a stance, squaring off against Giles, drawing in a deep breath in order to keep up his barrage._

"_That's right. Get pissed off with me! Yell at me! Hit me, god damn it. Because then at least you're fucking acknowledging that I exist. At least if you're angry with me then you can't fucking pretend that I mean nothing to you."_

"_Ethan, sit down, and shut up." Giles snapped, struggling to reign in his temper. Any small relief and gratitude that he may have felt, that the other had put their differences behind him, and had dealt with the fact that in spite of the awkwardness it had caused, Giles continued association with the Watchers Council was necessary, had been swept away by the bitter anger that was pouring off Ethan, made clear by word, after bitter word. _

_Giles felt that a little awkwardness was a tiny price to pay, to have the man that he loved at his side again, but the illusionary possibility, of finding peace with Ethan persisted for only seconds, before the ideal was shattered._

"_No. Why the hell should I do what you say, when all that you've ever done is hurt me? All I fucking wanted, the only thing that ever bloody mattered to me was being with you. And the second it doesn't work so easy any more, you write me out of your damned life, like I'm a dog that's shat on your god-damned carpet once too often!"_

"_Ethan…"_

"_No. Don't you fucking 'Ethan' me! You listen to me, for once in your fucking life. Did daddy dearest say that all was fucking forgiven when you turned your fucking back on me?"_

"_You don't have a single bloody clue what I was going through!"_

"_What you were going through?" Ethan was working him self up into a fine rage, "that's fucking rich, especially coming from you. What the hell do you think I've been going through? Or don't you remember how my father had me pissing blood just for saying that I wasn't going to fucking leave you?"_

"_Ethan…"_

"_You said you fucking loved me!" _

_Ethan reached in to his power, still largely uncontrollable, because he hadn't put any near the amount of time that he should have, in to practise. But it still responded readily enough, instantly unfurling at his command. He knew enough to be able to do this._

_He closed his eyes for seconds, gathering him self. Then he lashed out with it, the blow easily enough to send Giles across the room._

_Giles own power, untapped for an age, because he didn't feel comfortable doing anything, whether serious or minor, on his own, instantly came to the surface._

_He had struck the wall hard enough that he actually blacked out for a second. When he came back to his senses, his skin felt as though he had a thousand ants burrowing under it, a response to the power that was dancing, uncontrolled, over his skin. _

_Pain shot through his neck and head, and his head spun, just like he'd stood too fast, as he raised his head, just in time to see Ethan launching another spell. There was nothing that he could do to block it, or prevent it._

_The second he found himself capable of breathing again; he struck back, as hard as he could. It lacked even the almost non-existent elegance of Ethan's blow. He was picked up, and spun backwards through the air, his flight only ending when he shattered the window on the far side of the room, face first._

_Giles rose shakily to his feet, and crossed the small room with a couple of strides, grabbing Ethan, and tugging him back inside the room, knocking him out with a very measured burst of power._

_Then he froze, looking at his hand, which was quickly becoming red. For a few seconds his heart almost stopped, and he looked frantically for the source of blood. He found it quickly, a savage cut down the side of Ethan's face. _

_His heart started to beat again, sure and steady, and he looked at Ethan, lying, prone, with his head on his knee._

"_Damn it, Ethan," his voice was a strangled whisper. If Ethan carried on like this then he wasn't going to survive for much longer. _

_Already, he could see signs of hard living in the others face. Hair, once straight brown, beginning to grey around the edges, heavy lines around his eyes, and an almost gaunt thinness in his face._

_There was really only one thing for it. When push came to shove, then maybe the Council could set Ethan back on his feet, and stabilise him._

_As he tried to convince himself of this, he reached out for the bottle of whiskey, which had been dropped onto its side at some point during the scuffle. He threw his head back, and drained the remaining contents of the bottle, wincing at the far too familiar burn, which made its way down his throat._

_He hated it, but Ethan wasn't stable enough to be left out on his own._

_He picked up the phone, and rung the number, which was so familiar that he could have rung it in his sleep. The call made, the choice irreversible, all Giles could do was sit down and wait. _

_It was a small mercy that he didn't have to wait long. The two operatives took one look around the room, before eyes came to rest on Giles and Ethan, the slightly younger mans head still resting on his leg._

_It was a job that took a few seconds; to stop the bleeding from the facial wound, because there was no way that Giles was in any state of mind to do it._

_One of them tossed Ethan over his shoulder, and was swallowed up quickly by the waiting darkness. The other paused, and looked at him, before following his partner._

"_You'll help him?" Giles ask, uncertainty heavy in his voice._

"_You made the right choice, Rupert."_

_It was the last time, for five agonizingly long years that Giles would set his eyes on Ethan Rayne._

_The memories of the words that Ethan had flung at him were a cold comfort._

"_Pissing blood…"_

"_All I ever wanted…"_

"_You said you loved me."_

_The guilt was almost more than he could deal with. That was why, when the perfect opportunity presented its self five years later, it had been Ethan's phone number that was the first one he even considered calling. Because he wanted the chance to put the past into perspective, work the last of a boyhood crush out of his system, and give himself a little peace of mind. All that he had really wanted to know was that Ethan was okay._

Giles found he was blinking back an unshed tear, as he watched Ethan putting as much space between himself and Giles, as quickly as he could. The guilt that he had effectively shoved to the back of his mind for the last few days came to the forefront, almost as though it were mocking him.

"Fuck," he half-whispered to himself. There wasn't really anything else that he could say.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Again."

That voice, not even showing a tiny hint of strain, or tiredness, or stress, or anything else like it, spurred Buffy into action again, when all that she really wanted to do was collapse and draw her knees up to her chest, as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Come on, now. An opponent wouldn't waist a second in pressing the advantage, the second that he or she saw that you were flagging."

She rose the blade back into the defense position that she had been shown roughly three hours ago, and attempted to run through the series of moves again. Even without the distraction of a living enemy meeting her blade, and countering her step for step, it seemed to be impossible to obtain the level of perfection that was being demanded from her.

This time she made it roughly three quarters of the way through the sequence, before she faltered, and was stopped by a sharp tone of voice.

"No. Too slow, do it again."

Buffy fought for a few seconds with the stupid, childish urge to throw the blade away. She had a feeling that if she did then she would have a very steep price to pay. This was obviously the way that the Fates dealt with young Immortals that tried to slip out the house before anyone realized that they were awake. They sent Adam Pierson along, to push them to the edge of exhaustion.

And the fact that she had wanted to show him exactly how capable of getting rid of him if he proved to be a threat, she was, also probably had something to do with how hard he was pushing her.

They had arrived, and squared off, and he'd taken her down in a matter of seconds - and not just one time, or twice either, but five times.

Oh yeah. She was really showing him.

"Is this even possible?" she snapped, frustration colouring her tone.

"Watch," he said, and pulled of the moves, flawlessly, again.

She set herself in front of him, her legs slightly spread, in shat felt like a perfect imitation of his pose.

"No," he muttered, as he circled her.

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

He grasped her upper left arm, and raised it a little higher, moved her right hand down a little, and pressed a hand to the centre of her back, straightening her posture.

"Otherwise, as you come through into the second set, you exert yourself too much. Even the smallest change can make a difference, and you can't always rely on your gift of strength to save you. Try it again."

This time she managed to run all the way through the set. She felt glad for a few seconds.

Then she noticed that Adam's eyes were narrowed.

_What is it this time?_

Sure enough, the next time that a spoke was to deliver another correction.

"When you come forward for the final stretch, you bring the blade too far forward."

He showed her the corrected example of the offending move.

"The way you do it, like this," again, a demonstration, as he brought his Ivanhoe up, and to the side, "leaves you too far open. You need to keep it tight, and close, or you leave a whole that seems the size of a dump truck, to a practised opponent. And most that you meet, will be very well practised."

Buffy sighed, and he obviously noticed it.

"Again."

"Why are you pushing me this hard? What does it matter to you, anyway? Its not as though you actually know me all that well anyway."

"Actually, Buffy, at the moment I'm taking it easy. And I'm pushing you, because you represent a statistical impossibility. If people you meet don't want to use your existence to try to get to me, then a lot are bound to think that your Quickening will hold the answer to Immortal conception."

She bit back a yawn, and he looked at her.

"I didn't get all that much sleep last night," she said, by way of an explanation.

"Neither did I. Come, on, show me that you can do it."

She looked at him, and went to walk out, sick to death of it all, already. And there he was, in front of her.

"You do it, properly, and we call it a day."

She raised her blade again.

Her frustration, this time, lent her an edge that she hadn't had for the last three hours, and this time, as her blade swept in, and through what would have been the final move, which would have quite accurately separated her non-existent opponents head from his or her spinal column, Adam was nodding, in open approval.

"Good. Good. It took my last student just over two days to get that down."

Buffy glared at him, "Two days?"

And that, alone, had been something that he had found impressive. Because Ethan's willingness, and eagerness to learn, had shown Methos that there was hope or the young ones.

Two days, to learn a series of moves that had originally taken _him_ ten days to master, and then Buffy had set the record even higher.

He nodded, "That's good work."

"Hang on a moment. It took your last student two days, and you were getting snappy with me because it was taking me longer than three hours?"

"Well, he isn't a Slayer."

Adam put his Ivanhoe away in one smooth movement, and smiled at her, "Lets do lunch before we head back to your place. I'm sure Joyce still has a lot of questions that she wants to get cleared up, and I, for one, need the energy."


	17. Chapter 16:Hard Truths

**Chapter 16**

**Hard Truths**

Ethan paced back and forth, and back and forth, in the empty house. Richie had said, yesterday, that he was long overdue a trip to San Fran Cisco, and had left early that morning, saying, as he did so, that Ethan and Methos were welcome to continue staying in the house as long as they cleaned up after themselves.

_As if he doesn't trust us, like we're a pair of children. _

Although, truth be told, if it was his turn to do the housework, more often then not he was in the habit of conveniently remembering long overdue appointments, and whether they were with the mechanic, the librarian, or the useless doctor, it didn't particularly make much difference, as long as they got him out of the house for a few good, solid hours. And all the better for him, if when he got back, the work had mysteriously taken care of it's self.

If there was one thing that Ethan hated more than anything else, it was being left alone, with only his thoughts for company. It wasn't at all healthy, for him to spend too much time thinking. He was the type of person that thrived on company, and languished in forced solitude.

He remembered one time in particular, not long after he had first woken up. For some reason Methos had had to leave for half a week, and after the first day on his own, as unstable as he had been then, the silence had really gotten under his skin, and he'd wanted to do nothing more then kill him self.

It had felt as though everything that he'd once been certain of in the world had turned against him. He knew, in hindsight, that getting plastered, and going around to see Giles probably hadn't been the best decision that he'd ever made, but that didn't mean that the entire population of the human race had to band together to yank the rug out from under his feet.

And just when he'd started to feel a little more certain in him self, then Methos, the only person in the world whom knew him for who, and what he was, had gone and left.

He knew that it wasn't a permanent state of being, but that didn't make it sting any less. And even though he'd thought that he was at a stage where he could handle a couple of days on his own, he'd obviously been mistaken.

Ethan had quickly developed an unhealthy fascination with the idea of death.

And he wondered what things would have been like if the disease had gotten him first, instead. Would he still have woken up, as a shadow of his former self, unable to do anything other than lie there on his back, until someone ended his life permanently? Or would he have slowly regained his health? Would he have woken up at all?

In his desperation to be able to feel anything at all Ethan had steeled himself. And by the time Methos came back, three days later, it had been to find Ethan lying in the bathtub, on his back. Over the last three days he had killed himself several times over, having slit his own wrists.

He was past that now, but that didn't mean that he didn't still feel that little bite of bitter, lonely anger, when he was left to him self.

None of his experiences with any form of relationships had left him well off. His longest ever, had been his on again, off again affair with Ripper, which had originally lasted for seven years, and then come again, in ever decreasing bursts.

Aside from that, all he'd really had, in his old life, had been a rather ridiculous number of one-night stands. Or twenty minute stands, as the case may have been. Very few of he people that he'd been with had wanted to wait around and see what they'd done, (or whom they'd done, for that matter) in the cold light of day.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

When Methos got back later on that afternoon, if he was surprised to find Ethan moping about the place, then he wasn't showing it. He was looking as tired, and haggard as Ethan felt, but since he wasn't saying anything to Ethan about his condition, the Mage decided to return the favour.

Instead, he busied him self, and left no room for conversation, as he occupied himself with putting the kettle on and making two strong, black cups of tea.

He sat him self across from Methos, and sipped at his drink, eyeing him over the top of his cup. Finally, the silence got to him, and he had to break it. The sooner he could put Sunnydale behind him, and forget about everything that had happened here, the better off he would be, as far as he was concerned.

And he would never leave a job half-done, even if his heart was no longer in it. Methos had been around for one hell of a long time, and if he didn't know of an answer to the problem that he was currently trying to solve then he doubted that one existed.

"Methos, I need to talk to you."

The other nodded, but didn't answer out loud, instead leaving the conversation open for Ethan to start it.

Again, for a few moments, the silence fell between them, but it was a reasonably comfortable one. Ethan finished off his cup of tea, and drifted back out to pour a fresh one, in order to give himself time to work out where to start.

"Remember how I told you that I used to have a friend back when I was in London?"

"Quite clearly. You used some rather colourful terminology to describe him the first few times you spoke of him. Rupert, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Ethan stopped again, once again thinking.

"Well?" After a further ten minutes had passed, Methos took the initiative, gently prompting Ethan to speak again. He did it gently, because he seemed to be balanced precariously on the edge.

"Well, when you were gone he called my – our – home, and left several dozen messages on the answer phone. Said he had a problem, that he needed my help with. You see, his family came from a long line of Watchers, Vampire Slayer Watchers that is, and when he straightened up, and started to fly right, then they gave him a Slayer."

"Ethan," Methos halted his flow of words with a raised hand, "Breathe. Take breaths, deep ones, and then remember to keep doing it."

"Yeah, sure," Ethan took one deep breath, in order to prove that he could do so, and then picked up again, from where he had left off, "so anyway, once all this was over and done with, and he'd had six months of time to bond with her, she had to face off against a Master Vampire – the Master, to be specific – and it was meant to be a fight that would kill her."

Ethan hesitated again, "I suppose that she did die in it. Because she's an Immortal, now, and as soon as Rupert found that out, he called me up. He wanted me to try to find a way, magickal or otherwise, that could reverse the immortality, because he was worried about what it would do to her, and she hated the idea behind it."

Methos was frowning. Ethan had learnt enough, to know when to shut his mouth, over the last couple of years. For example, a good time was whenever he got _that _particular look on his face.

"I don't suppose," he asked, his tone of voice giving away one hell of a lot less than the expression that had flashed across his face for an instant of a second, "that her name is Buffy Summers, by any chance?"

Ethan paused, and rose an eyebrow, "How would you know the name?"

Methos didn't ever waste unnecessary words by dancing around questions. If he felt like an answer wasn't needed, then he simply chose not to give one. And that was the case now, as he answered Ethan's question with a statement of his own, "So, of course, you dropped everything, and came directly to Sunnydale, because you still care for your friend."

Ethan narrowed his eyes, "I never said that," he almost growled, "and it's certainly not true, now."

The older man sighed, "You don't have to, Ethan. You say it, in the way you talk about him, every time you mention the name. And, no matter how much you may try to deny it, your pain gives you away, right now. If you didn't care, then he couldn't, wouldn't be able to hurt you."

"Not at all true."

The Mage crossed his arms over his chest, and set his expression in stone.

Methos waited. Ethan could be stubborn, but he was nothing, when compared to the Ancient.

"Ethan, I've seen thousands of relationships built and ended. I've seen hundreds of different ways that a person can hurt, and only a fraction of them, physical. I know pain. I've caused pain, and I've had my own share of run-ins with it. When you love someone, you put your heart into what you do, and emotion becomes tangled up in what you have, and when that love sours then you feel like lashing out, and hurting the world. But just because things have gone wrong, and you've been hurt, that doesn't instantly mean that you stop caring. A person can't turn their emotions on and off by whim, will, or by wish."

"But I …I…" he trailed off, unsure of where to go with the conversation. Then, he was struck by a burst of inspiration, "But it doesn't make one damned shred of difference anyway, because I'm with you now."

"I've been around long enough to know the difference between being with someone, and being a convenient distraction. There's a difference between friendship, and attraction, just as there is between attraction and caring, caring and love. And you've seen enough of how the world works, and the masks that people wear, to know the difference yourself. What we have here isn't love, and I doubt that you actually need me to tell you that. I care for you, yes, but as far as love goes, I feel as much love towards you, that you do, I."

Methos gave the younger man a few moments to process his words, before continuing.

"This, what we have, is, at most, friendship with benefits. And you know that, too."

"Methos, I…I just want to forget about this whole gods-damned mess, and get back to where I was before. I just want to do what I have to do, put this bloody Hellhole behind me, and forget everything that's ever happened here."

"Ethan…"

The young Mage raised his head, and looked into those haunted brown eyes, that had seen history unfolding before him, and took a deep breath, "At least when we're fucking then I can pretend that there's someone in the world, whom loves me."

"I'm not sure that I can love, Ethan. Five thousand years is too long for an emotional person. Even if I had only fallen for one person every century, then that's still five hundred lovers. What sort of effect do you think five hundred people that you care for, dying, does to a person?"

"It'd tear your heart away. You'd be better off, dead inside then feeling that sort of pain, because it'd drive you mad. It'd drive anyone mad."

Ethan uncrossed his arms, and reached across, to pick up his lukewarm drink, and looked down at it, pulling a face at the fly that had landed in it. He sighed, and put it back.

"I'm telling you this, because I respect you, and who you're becoming."

At this frank admission, Ethan's eyes widened. He had only ever heard the Ancient say those words to one other person, ever. It was one hell of a big thing, for Methos to say that he respected him. The only other person that he'd heard it said to, had been Duncan, as he'd heard one end of a phone conversation.

"_You are, essentially, a good man, MacLeod, and I respect you, and your opinions. I may not always agree with you, but I can give you that."_

"And as for this crazy idea about reversing Buffy's Immortality, you can forget it. I'm not saying that it's impossible, because I have seen it done, once, and that person lost everything. The power of the spell, alone, drove him and the other four people that took part in the ritual, over the edge of sanity. And even if there were a safe way to do it, then I wouldn't let you. It'd be far to risky to make Buffy human, again."

"But, if she doesn't want it, if it's going to push her over the edge…"

"It won't. And if you cross me on this, then I will become your worst nightmare, Ethan Rayne."

There were very few people that could frighten him the way Ripper once had, with his cold steel-and-flint eyes, hard expressions, and the promise, often delivered on, of violence rolling off him almost with his every action. Methos, when he was like this, numbered among those few.

Then the hardness dropped away, and Methos raised a hand, to cover a yawn. Ethan's eyes flashed up towards the clock, and blinked in surprise. They had been just talking for over an hour, with all the false starts between them, and the living room was being flooded by the harsh orange glow of the setting sun.

Ethan rose to his feet, and crossed the room with a few sure strides, and pulled the curtain. He wanted to ask Methos what he'd been doing over the last couple of days, but he knew that if the other wanted him to know, then he would volunteer the information.

When he turned back, Methos had already stood and crossed the room, with that cat-quiet tread of his, and was standing at the foot of the stairs, with one hand on the banister.

"I know that it's still reasonably early, but I'm going to bed. I need to get some rest."

Ethan nodded, "I'll be upstairs in around thirty minutes or so. Got a couple of little things that I want to get taken care of, before I turn in," he said, as he gathered up the two half-empty cups, and took them through to the kitchen.

He and Methos may be nothing more then friends with benefits, but at least they were bloody good benefits.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Aaron had heard the rumours that had spread regarding Sunnydale, but he had never believed any of them. He had made it a regular practise, not to take anyone, or what anyone said, at face value.

He hadn't trusted his teacher, when he'd told him that it wasn't worth it, to fight all the time. Instead, he had gone out actively searching for conflict, and for Challenges.

He'd heard it said that any Immortal who could tolerate Sunnydale, which was meant to have an adverse effect on any of them, would have a far better chance at survival. It was meant to be proof of a very high level of self-control to remain rational, and survive, near the amount of mystical energy that a portal to hell gave off.

Because he had faced just over a dozen Challenges, having sought them out, before his teacher had confronted him about it, he had already become addicted to the incredible rush of power that the Quickening bestowed upon the victor of a Challenge.

And it had been a small step, from challenging the nameless, almost faceless strangers that he had encountered, to facing off against his teacher, a man of just over two hundred and fifty years, and taking his reward. It was through that one Quickening that he had found out about Sunnydale.

And he hadn't been able to resist this brand new challenge.

As soon as he got into the town, he made to hunt down the first Immortal that he sensed.

He had learnt, through a lot of practise, to extend his range, until he was capable of sensing others before they could sense him. And also, to hide his own presence from other far more efficiently than anyone else that he had encountered had been able to.

And the first Immortal the he encountered, in spite of the fact that she felt powerful, still came across as a child. She had blond hair, and blue eyes, and was rather small, but not to the point where she would have been considered to be at a disadvantage. Under other circumstances, he would have considered her attractive. Such as, if he hadn't been planning on taking her head.

He first spotted her, as she came out of a rather nice looking house, in the early evening, with a long, thin bag thrown over her shoulder, which was just the right size to carry a sword in.

_Another sign of youth_ he mused to himself. A seasoned Immortal would have been able to carry a sword on his or her person with little, to no difficulty.

He stepped out of the shadows, and she spun towards him, having picked up on his presence far sooner then she should have been able to, because as well as extending his range, he had been trying to partially mask his own presence. She was obviously very perceptive.

He extended a hand, as formal as he could manage, masking the frustration that he felt at being picked up on, and loosing his advantage.

"Aaron Coleman, of Washington. I'm here to Challenge you. Nothing personal, I assure you, I just want your head. Or, more specifically, what comes with it."

She took the hand, before he had finished introducing himself, and her eyes widened as he did so.

There was a hint of fear in her expression, and that made him smile.

_Good, if she's nervous, then she's inexperienced. And if she's afraid, then she's more likely to make an irreversible mistake._

Buffy swallowed, and tried to move away from him, but he wasn't letting go of her hand. After a few seconds, she had regained her composure, and met his confident gaze, with her own hardened expression.

"Buffy Summers, of California."

He had already scouted out several reasonable places, to be used for Challenges. As her grasp tightened on his hand, and started to grind the bones together, he tugged his hand out of hers, and gestured with his head, "Follow me."


	18. Chapter 17:Patterns

**Chapter 17**

**Patterns**

Buffy only just caught the blade with her own, as it swept towards her, hard, sure, and fast. The shock of the blow shot back through her hands, jarring them, and for a few seconds she worried that she was going to lose her grasp.

They had already been locked in combat for ten minutes, with neither fighter gaining, or really loosing an upper hand. If it wasn't for her gifts of speed, and a strength that Aaron hadn't been expecting, then Buffy had a feeling that she would have lost already. The other fought with a self-assuredness that could only have been born of experience.

She was worried. She had hoped that she would be able to end it quickly, before things really got started, but that plot definitely hadn't come to fruition, and instead, he'd had all the time that he needed to adapt to her style.

Buffy spun herself around, and picked off another two blows, one high, and one towards her chest. A small bead of sweat ran down her forehead, and into her eyes, but she blinked it away before the other had a chance to register her discomfort. She was grateful for the extended session that Adam had put her through that morning, or she would have been dead already, as well.

And here she'd though he had been paranoid, when he had insisted that they keep at it.

She stepped towards him, and in the same movement, he stepped back as she took a couple of small, testing strikes, towards him, looking, as she did so, for some sign of weakness in his defence.

_Don't exert yourself, that's one of the most important things to remember. And __never__ let an opponent see everything that you know._

One short session, and Adams advice was already coming to the forefront of her mind, whispering to her, as she tried to keep everything in place. Aaron took a couple of steps to the side, almost as though moving to circle Buffy, and she moved with him, tuning to keep her blade between them, and keeping him in her line of sight.

Buffy changed her stance, and positioned herself more comfortably, extending herself to take in every aspect of her opponent, just the way Giles had taught her to do. This man was no demon, but some things could be carried through. Even the smallest of quivers could betray intention.

He moved in again, and the block that she used would have been more suitable between quarterstaffs, her hand moving to support the back of the scimitar, even as she drew back, and away from it.

As she started to get a feel for Aaron's own style, a small part of her began to enjoy the fight. She never entirely lost that small hint of fear, but as the fight drew longer, then, at least she could begin to map out a little of what was going to happen.

Another series of cutting, stinging slashes, a couple of which were possible to avoid, spinning out, and away from harm, and another one that had to be blocked, that almost came a little too close for comfort.

It had been a long time since she'd had any real challenge from the parade of vampires that she took on, as a part of her nightly routine. After a while, she was almost ready to admit that a part of her wanted something more, something interesting, and something that would keep her on her toes.

Almost fifteen minutes now, and while they were both starting to breath a little harder, there had been no blood spilled, no first wound, that told which way the tide of the fight was going to turn.

She took the offensive, dancing out to the right, a spinning, slicing cut, a quick feint, something that he was far too experienced to respond to, stepping quickly, forward, forward, to the side, and then giving a tiny bit of ground as she gathered herself again.

Not that much difference between this and fighting an older demon, not really. Before her first death, and even afterwards, before she'd found out, she had fought every fight as though it was her life on the line, because in her mind, it had been. She hadn't known that death wouldn't be permanent. She did know now, that if she lost it would be, but that didn't really make all that much difference.

Either way, she was still fighting for her life.

Aaron frowned as he moved. She really was an enigma, this one. She had carried herself with the telling signs of youth, yet she fought as though she'd had to fight her way through almost every day of her life. This wasn't what he expected from a newly born Immortal. This wasn't the seventeen hundreds, or the eighteen hundreds, where to see another sunrise one had to take on the world, and hope to luck.

At the most, one as obviously young as she was ought to know maybe a little self-defence, at the most. She ought to have been down and out within the first few minutes, not still standing, and trying him some fifteen minutes after their blades had first crossed.

It was entirely possible that he had underestimated her a little, and he definitely hadn't counted on her strength, which was almost more like a mans. Still, not to worry, because he hadn't yet allowed her to see even half of what he was capable of.

He picked up the pace, and added a far more precise deadliness, a perceptible jagged edge to his blows. And one again, she met his blade, and added to her own attacks.

He began to fight properly, and a blow got through her defences, and cut her arm. It was only a scratch, healed in seconds, but it was still enough to give her the edge of fear. It was entirely possible that she was going to lose. And if that happened, then she would be losing everything.

He took everything that he had, because if the fight dragged out for too much longer, then he felt that he would start to tire, and that, falling to exhaustion, would be his undoing.

But instead, it was pressing his advantage that proved to do so. If he had taken his time, wearing Buffy out then his victory would have been assured. He sent a pair of swiping blows towards her arms, and she stepped into one of them, bringing her own blade up, and using his own momentum to swing his sword out wider then what he had counted on. She got in a small cut to his lower arm, because that was what came close to her, and he stepped back, to give himself the space that he needed to take control again.

It was here, that he faulted. He was focusing on Buffy entirely, and not paying any attention to the ground that he was on. As he stepped back he stepped onto something that moved underfoot, and while that alone wasn't enough to throw him off his footing, Buffy took the tiny opportunity, and dropped, sweeping her legs out under her, and he hit the ground, hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs.

She stood over him, and hesitated, looking down at him.

When they had been in the heat of the fight, she had been able to convince herself that this was no different to taking on a demon. But now that he was down, she couldn't hold onto that mindset. She was looking down at him, and all that she could see was a frightened man, on his back, waiting to met his death.

She knew that the Challenge had been issued, and it was always ment to be a fight to the death when it was. She knew that if she didn't' take his life now, then it was highly likely that he would come back, again, and again until it was him that took her down. She knew that her victory today had only been due to a lucky break.

But she was having trouble seeing the man that had been locked into combat with her only moments before.

Again she looked at him, at the tremble in his muscles, at the eyes that were shut tightly, at the tension in him as he waited for the deathblow to fall. If he hadn't looked so… so…so human, so normal, then she wouldn't have had half this trouble.

She changed the grasp that she had on the handle of the scimitar, to a two-handed one, and raised the blade, just as he opened his eyes, and grimaced.

"Hurry up, and do it." His voice was almost inaudible, and as he saw her lifting the blade above her head, he closed his eyes again. She tried to steal herself, and reminded herself that this man would have had no trouble taking _her_ head.

But she had been taught to avoid harming people, by her Watcher, and that had been one of the few rules that she had taken to heart. He may be Immortal, but he wasn't some nameless, faceless creature, lurking in the dark for its next tasty little treat to wander past.

He was still human. Slowly she lowered the blade, bringing it back down.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Whenever they came together, in the past, it had always been a pattern of cut and thrust, strike and dodge, crash and retreat.

Sometimes it had been more literal then at other times, and sometime one phase of their pattern lasted for longer then it normally would at other times. But it always came back around, to the same starting point, and always cycled out again, until retreat was drawn out into months, and sometimes years.

Then it became call and catch, hunt and find, a merry little game of hound and fox, before the other inevitable part came around again.

And when it was over they had both been left scared and bleeding. Maybe it hadn't always been visible, but it had always been there. Always hurting one another, and always coming back to be hurt, just that little bit more, because, as far as Ethan had been concerned, even when they'd been yelling, and it had _only_ been cut, strike, and dodge, then even that, even hurting one another had been better then having Rupert pretending that he didn't exist.

In the early days, before the demon had tainted what they'd had with one another, there had been love and affection.

With the demon coming into the pattern, however, everything had been changed, and rearranged, and lost. Eyghon had feed on savagery, and pain, as much as it had on magick, and life force.

As he had possessed Ethan for the first he had awakened something inside of him, that had been too hard to send back to sleep, and as he had done the same to Ripper, he had feed the thing that he had awakened within Ethan, an almost desperate craving for pain.

By the time Randall had to be killed, the changes that had been between them had bee far too much, too deep to be reversed.

They had set the pattern between them in the early days of playing with Eyghon, and it had, with few changes, been one of the few things that had remained.

Right up until the one time when Ripper had told him to get out, and stay gone, that he couldn't do this any more, that it was finally over.

That had been a couple of days after the last time they'd shagged, and this had been three months before Giles had handed him over, and the longest retreat to ever enter into their pattern had begun.

That night, for the first time in his memory, he'd had dreams that he could remember, and they'd been nightmares.

Flames licking at his skin, the pain of Ripper's fists burying into his sides, or an open hand striking at exposed flesh. All memories that had been tied to the ritual of the summoning, and of the possession, because it had been that, that had sparked the beginning of the end, and it had been losing Rupert, permanently, that had been the worst nightmare that he could think of.

He had responded to Rupert's phone call, not only because of a promise that he'd made in his distant youth, but because he'd figured that it would be one last chance to break the patterns established so long ago. Still thrust, and cut, yes, but working past it, flowing on, and without the desperate, flying retreat.

And now, as far as he could see, even that small chance of a chance was gone.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Methos propped himself up on his elbow, watching as Ethan twisted and turned, uneasily, in his sleep. In spite of the fact that he'd said he needed to get some sleep, and he hadn't been kidding, it was impossible to sleep with Ethan next to him, and as restless as he was.

"Fuck."

He frowned to him self, as the younger man cursed in his sleep, and reaching he found himself wondering exactly what had happened that day, that had caused this.

Not even the young ones first Quickening had been enough to disturb his sleep. In fact, the only other time that he could ever remember Ethan being like this, had been after his First Death.

He still watched, remembering the conversation that they'd had, earlier.

…_You dropped everything and came directly to Sunnydale because you still care._

And what had Ethan's response been again?

…_I never said that, and it's certainly not true now._

It didn't take a genius to work out that Ethan had most likely spent the last few days helping out this Rupert, and something must have happened between them, for Ethan to have responded as heatedly as he had, and to turn to him for help in hope of getting away from Sunnydale, and back to London.

He wondered how Ethan would take the news that he was planning on sticking around here for a while, because there were things that he needed to see through.

Well, tonight it wasn't the time, or the place, to bring that up.

He caught Ethan's hand as it lashed out, striking out in a blind rage, and lowered it back under the covers. Then he rolled Ethan up onto his side, knowing from experience, that it would take a lot more then that to wake him, and settled himself against his back, with one arm draping over his side, just as he had in the days when he first taken him in.

The Mage instantly relaxed, automatically leaning back against the others chest, his breathing evening out, as he dropped back into a restful sleep.

Methos closed his eyes. He was going to have to broach the subject of whys, and wherefores, and probably sooner rather than later.

It was clear that Ethan obviously had some of his own issues to deal with here, as well.

But that was something that could be faced, and probably seem a lot clearer, in the new light of morning.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Still Buffy stood, poised, just like she had been for the last few minutes. Quickly she glanced away, for a few seconds, to see what had tipped victory in her direction.

It was a bone - a slightly gnawed _human_ bone, for that matter, and scarily fresh looking.


	19. Chapter 18: Seen and Unseen

**Chapter 18**

**Seen and Unseen**

Aaron took quick advantage of Buffy's momentary distraction, seeing his final chance, right there, before his eyes. He spun himself around, bringing his sword up, an around, towards her ankles.

This time she didn't let her self think about it. She stepped back, out of his reach, and brought the scimitar down, in a double handed strike, and it went through the back of his neck, cutting through the spine, and muscle with only the barest ounce of resistance.

He crumpled forward, and his head hit the ground an instant of a second before the rest of him did.

Thanks to several different explanations, she knew what was going to happen now, and she took several quick steps back, trying to but as much distance as possible between her, and the tendrils of blue lightning that were creeping out from the gap between Aaron's body, and his head.

It was impossible to put all the distance that she _really_ to, between herself and the budding Quickening, however.

The first bolt arched up, wrapping around her leg, almost like a fiery caress, sending a quick, intense bolt of pain into her. And the rest flowed on from that, gaining more and more ground. The next serious bolt hit her in the chest, and it felt like a hand had been wrapped around her heart, and was squeezing. There was no was that she could stay on her feet.

With a strangled gasp, she dropped to her knees, and the next one that hit made her go down, properly, her eyes shut tightly, as the first of the strange memories entered into her.

It was like nothing that she had ever experienced before.

She couldn't see anything that was around her, only what was behind her eyes.

So she didn't see the reptilian figure that came slinking out from the shadowed corner of the old factory.

And nor did she see it, as a clawed hand flashed out, resting in the path of the blue lightning, between her and Aaron's body.

Kali-taron had seen it in the pattern of the stars that there would be a fight, and that one of the Undying would fall. While had hadn't been able to see the victor, because the stars had shown him both possible outcomes, he had bee able to see that it would be better for them if the female won. As well as giving the youth orders to collect some of the exhausted energy, in order to ensure the survival of the whelping female, he had also given orders, to, if possible, and necessary, manipulate the fight so that the female won.

That was why, when her had seen her faltering, he had tossed the bone that he had been gnawing on, out so that it was where it needed to be, to tip the balance of the battle. Both fighters had been so engaged with one another, that neither had noticed.

The first thing that came through as the memories struck her, was how lucky she really had been to win. She saw a jumbled, running montage of what seemed to be around a dozen different peoples memories. Hints, and flashes, that longest, the ones that stood out the most, lasting no more then maybe five seconds.

Most of the memories seemed to come from some time within the last five or ten years. She saw glimpses of several wholly unique fighting styles, some of which she could name, if she'd had the time to think on it, and some which she had never even heard of.

And there was another set of memories there, one that seemed to be stronger then the rest of them, even those which came through as belonging to Aaron himself.

Then the flurry faded, and settled down a little, and she began to channel Aaron directly.

_The first was a voice yelling at him, followed by hard, heavy-handed blows, which fell on him, like a cold squall. Pain, so much pain that he felt he would be better off dead._

_This voice, sometimes cold and hard, sometimes simply indifferent, was the voice of someone that he was meant to look up to, someone that was meant to protect him. _

_Running, and hiding, but tracked down and sent back into the realm of his nightmares. _

_Always back to his father, he whom only wanted to keep him around because it meant that his mother was forced to pay child-support._

_A bottle, filled with a dull brown liquid – whiskey, which his father had caught him pouring down the sink - a cruel drink, which turned the drinker bitter, and had been brought with the money that was meant to go towards feeding him._

_Curling in to a ball, to protect him self from the foot which was streaking in his direction. He's always careful, to only land the blows where it wasn't immediately visible._

_Wishing, desperately, that he had the strength to fight back. When HE was grown up he would never be a victim again._

_No, he would get to the others before they could get to him, before they could ever hurt him again._

_Flashing lights in the rare view mirror._

_Fear. _

_There was blood on his hands. He had gone around to see his father, and cut all ties with him._

_Well, there was no doubt that he had done that. The smallest, most insubstantial of things had set him off, and as well as cutting ties, he'd cut his fathers throat, too. _

_Now, stepping on the accelerator, and trying to outrun the cop car behind him, and spinning out of control, straight through the barrier that stood between the road and the sea._

_Burning pain in his lungs, and an even worse ache in his head. No idea how he's waking up, no idea why he's waking up. There was no way he could have gotten out of that car, no one that would have cared about him enough to do it for him. And with all the alcohol in his system he'd been well along his way to dying from alcohol poisoning anyway._

_A voice._

"_Open your eyes."_

_The first time his blade crossed with that of another persons- the man that became his teacher, meeting him first, in practise, and later, in play._

_But he was still weak. Far weaker then he wanted to be, and when he found out that the Quickening was a route to power, he began to hunt for them._

Buffy felt sick to her soul, and as weak as a baby. Her entire body was trembling, and all that she could do was lie there.

As the intensity of the memories tampered off, she drew a shaky breath, and tried to gather herself together enough to stand. This action alone, took a few attempts to achieve.

It had been early evening when she entered the old factory, and now, when she emerged form it, it was fully dark.

When Adam had left her the afternoon, he'd given her a phone number, 'Just in case anything came up,' so it was a phone box that she was looking for know, because something had definitely come up. She had a body to dispose of, and nowhere near enough strength to take care of it her self.

And Adam had said, among other things, that cleaning up after oneself was one of the most important things that had to be done at the conclusion of a Challenge.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Methos was dragged out of his light sleep by the sound of the phone ringing in the lounge. As he sat up, grumbling to himself, he looked over towards the clock, which was lit by a silver of light from the bulb that shone in the passage. While it felt like a very late hour, it was really only a little after ten.

As he raised himself from the bed, Ethan stirred, and looked over towards him, blinking sleepily, "…tell me what's up?"

Remnants of sleep stole the first part of his question.

"Phone," he said, as he headed towards the door.

Just as he stepped out, it cut off. Then, seconds later, it began again.

"Just forget it, for once," Ethan grumbled, looking annoyed.

In reply, Methos shook his head, and headed out to the phone in the passage, and picked it up.

Out of curiosity, Ethan followed, dragging him self over to the open doorway and watched as Methos held the phone to his ear and after listening for maybe thirty seconds he spoke.

"Buffy. Slow down, and talk clearly."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see it.

"Mm-hmm. And then?"

Ethan shifted, all of a sudden restless.

"Yes, I see. Where?"

That was followed by another tiny pause.

"Yes, I'm coming. I'll be right there. You just sit down, and try to ground yourself a little. You'll feel better for it."

As he hung up, he turned to Ethan, "Go and start the car, will you? I'll be down in a couple of seconds, I just want to grab something first."

Even through he wanted to know what had gotten Methos up and moving, straight from sleep, he also knew that it was best not to press his luck when the other seemed so serious.

So he headed down, doing exactly what had been asked.

Anyway, he would find out soon enough, if things panned out in the way they seemed to be doing.

True to his word, Methos was down a few second later, and gesturing for him to slide over so that he could take the drivers seat. As he settled himself in the seat, he offered one more piece of advice, in that brisk no-arguments tone of his, "When we get there make sure you call me by Adam."

No explanations. Ethan frowned at that, but he still knew better then to say anything.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

As Methos pulled up to the old factory the first thing that he spotted was Buffy, sitting on ground outside, arms around her knees, shivering.

He got out of the car, even as Ethan remained sitting in his seat, and quickly crossed the bedrock to where she was.

"Holding out?"

Again, a small shiver, as she looked up towards him, "I don't like it. It's like he's in my head. I see one little thing, that doesn't mean anything to me, and it triggers even more memories. I…God, I don't know what to do. With them, or how to…to stop them, or anything. I just want it to stop."

He pressed a hand to her shoulder, and sighed, "All that you can do is wait it out. That's all that anyone can do, and it will get less intense. Eventually, it will pass."

"That's…that's…that's all?" She sounded close to the edge of panic.

He squeezed, lightly, "Yes," then he got to business, because he could always come back once the body was taken care of, "He inside?"

She looked up at him, blankly, for a few seconds, before she nodded.

He headed back to the car, and stopped at the passenger door, speaking in what was now a slightly exasperated tone, " Ethan. Get your arse out of that seat, and give me a hand with this."

The Brit frowned, "And are you ever going to tell me what exactly 'this' is?"

"A body, in the building over there. And your magick will make things a lot easier."

"Oh."

It was all that he really could think of, in answer. They crossed over to the building, and slipped inside with ease.

As he looked towards the headless body, frowning, he spotted something that was chalk-white lying near it. He crouched to investigate, and winced, on seeing that it was a gnawed looking human bone.

Methos directed his attention to the sword, recognizing it in a heartbeat.

"Aaron Coleman. Comes from Washington, has a minor reputation as a headhunter. He's quite young, if memory serves, only been playing the Game for maybe a decade at the outside, and already just on a dozen heads to his name, too."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, and whistled, softly, "And she bet him. Damned impressive, that."

"Luck as much as skill, I'd say. Look at how close he is to that bone. I think he went over on it."

"That really is some luck."

As Ethan talked, he reached inwards for his power, and turned the amount that he needed outwards to the body, focusing on it now, with proper intent. While Methos was older, and had learnt some magick through route, he hadn't been born to it, and so he didn't have the raw, natural talent that the Mage had. And that meant that something like this was infinitely easier for Ethan to manage.

Theis wasn't the first time that Ethan had used magick to hide a body, and he had learnt, through the little practise that he'd had, that the best spell to use, in this instance, was a transmogrification. While it took a lot of raw energy, it was also impossible to uncover, due to the layers that he wove into it. Settling into a crouch, Ethan rested a hand on the shoulder, and turned his power out in several perfectly measured bursts. The first dropped the slowly fading aura, the second twisted and destroyed the internal organs, and bones, and muscles, and the third shrunk and twisted the outer body out of shape, until it resembled a tiny patch of moisture. The head carried no lingering aura of it's own, so it was a simple matter to dissolve it.

As with any powerful magick, for a few moments Ethan became totally helpless, as he was transfixed by the manipulated, shifting, morphing energy. It was only as Methos settled a hand onto his shoulder that he was drawn back into himself. He glanced up, a grateful expression in his eyes.

"Thank-you. I hate feeling like I'm going to...to..._lose_ myself."

Methos nodded, "You're fine," his voice was exceedingly gentle, a combination of the protectiveness that he was feeling towards the shivering teen sitting outside the factory, and the knowledge of what had happened to him the last time that Ethan had lost his sense of self to magick. Taking one last glance around the factory, he helped Ethan back up to a standing position, and headed back outside.

As he stepped out and started heading back over to Buffy, who hadn't moved so much as an inch from where he'd left her, he heard a foot scraping on the ground. It wasn't something that anyone else had picked up on, but in Methos's eyes it was more then enough to give the waiter in the shadows away. Without any thing that could have given him away, he spun, mid-step, and ran towards the dark corner of the yard. The sound of footstep, running, let him know that he hadn't been imagining things, and seconds later he was in a position to reach out and grab the person by the shoulder, spinning them around, and dragging her out into the light.

Buffy slowly looked up to see what was going on, blinked a couple of times, and frowned.

Ethan, as he came out moments later, looked livid on seeing whom it was that Methos was holding on to.

And Buffy was the first one to speak, in a tiny voice, "Miss Calender. What are you doing here?"

He tugged her forward a little more, and realization dawned in his expression as he realized that she was trying to keep all attention from her left hand. He grabbed the hand with one of his own, the sleave with the other, and pulled it back, even as she was trying to pull away, to reveal a small tattoo on her wrist, which showed a circle within a circle, and inside that a double arch, that resembled a bird in flight.

"Watcher," Methos growled, in a very dangerous tone.

Ethan, coming up behind him, spoke, his words tinged with hatred, and not a little jealousy, even though he would never admit to it, "But you were in town before any of us arrived, or were outed. What were you doing here in the first place?"

All attention had been on Jenny, but that changed when Buffy spoke again, "What do you mean she's a Watcher? Surely Giles would have mentioned something."

She looked at the Immortal that had a very secure grasp on her, and after trying, unsuccessfully, one more time, to wriggle lose, she sighed and settled.

"So, that's the cat out of the bag."

"That's one way to put it," Methos said, raising an eyebrow.


	20. Chapter 19:To Make the Hard Choices

**Chapter 18**

**Seen and Unseen**

Aaron took quick advantage of Buffy's momentary distraction, seeing his final chance, right there, before his eyes. He spun himself around, bringing his sword up, an around, towards her ankles.

This time she didn't let her self think about it. She stepped back, out of his reach, and brought the scimitar down, in a double handed strike, and it went through the back of his neck, cutting through the spine, and muscle with only the barest ounce of resistance.

He crumpled forward, and his head hit the ground an instant of a second before the rest of him did.

Thanks to several different explanations, she knew what was going to happen now, and she took several quick steps back, trying to but as much distance as possible between her, and the tendrils of blue lightning that were creeping out from the gap between Aaron's body, and his head.

It was impossible to put all the distance that she _really_ to, between herself and the budding Quickening, however.

The first bolt arched up, wrapping around her leg, almost like a fiery caress, sending a quick, intense bolt of pain into her. And the rest flowed on from that, gaining more and more ground. The next serious bolt hit her in the chest, and it felt like a hand had been wrapped around her heart, and was squeezing. There was no was that she could stay on her feet.

With a strangled gasp, she dropped to her knees, and the next one that hit made her go down, properly, her eyes shut tightly, as the first of the strange memories entered into her.

It was like nothing that she had ever experienced before.

She couldn't see anything that was around her, only what was behind her eyes.

So she didn't see the reptilian figure that came slinking out from the shadowed corner of the old factory.

And nor did she see it, as a clawed hand flashed out, resting in the path of the blue lightning, between her and Aaron's body.

Kali-taron had seen it in the pattern of the stars that there would be a fight, and that one of the Undying would fall. While had hadn't been able to see the victor, because the stars had shown him both possible outcomes, he had bee able to see that it would be better for them if the female won. As well as giving the youth orders to collect some of the exhausted energy, in order to ensure the survival of the whelping female, he had also given orders, to, if possible, and necessary, manipulate the fight so that the female won.

That was why, when her had seen her faltering, he had tossed the bone that he had been gnawing on, out so that it was where it needed to be, to tip the balance of the battle. Both fighters had been so engaged with one another, that neither had noticed.

The first thing that came through as the memories struck her, was how lucky she really had been to win. She saw a jumbled, running montage of what seemed to be around a dozen different peoples memories. Hints, and flashes, that longest, the ones that stood out the most, lasting no more then maybe five seconds.

Most of the memories seemed to come from some time within the last five or ten years. She saw glimpses of several wholly unique fighting styles, some of which she could name, if she'd had the time to think on it, and some which she had never even heard of.

And there was another set of memories there, one that seemed to be stronger then the rest of them, even those which came through as belonging to Aaron himself.

Then the flurry faded, and settled down a little, and she began to channel Aaron directly.

_The first was a voice yelling at him, followed by hard, heavy-handed blows, which fell on him, like a cold squall. Pain, so much pain that he felt he would be better off dead._

_This voice, sometimes cold and hard, sometimes simply indifferent, was the voice of someone that he was meant to look up to, someone that was meant to protect him. _

_Running, and hiding, but tracked down and sent back into the realm of his nightmares. _

_Always back to his father, he whom only wanted to keep him around because it meant that his mother was forced to pay child-support._

_A bottle, filled with a dull brown liquid – whiskey, which his father had caught him pouring down the sink - a cruel drink, which turned the drinker bitter, and had been brought with the money that was meant to go towards feeding him._

_Curling in to a ball, to protect him self from the foot which was streaking in his direction. He's always careful, to only land the blows where it wasn't immediately visible._

_Wishing, desperately, that he had the strength to fight back. When HE was grown up he would never be a victim again._

_No, he would get to the others before they could get to him, before they could ever hurt him again._

_Flashing lights in the rare view mirror._

_Fear. _

_There was blood on his hands. He had gone around to see his father, and cut all ties with him._

_Well, there was no doubt that he had done that. The smallest, most insubstantial of things had set him off, and as well as cutting ties, he'd cut his fathers throat, too. _

_Now, stepping on the accelerator, and trying to outrun the cop car behind him, and spinning out of control, straight through the barrier that stood between the road and the sea._

_Burning pain in his lungs, and an even worse ache in his head. No idea how he's waking up, no idea why he's waking up. There was no way he could have gotten out of that car, no one that would have cared about him enough to do it for him. And with all the alcohol in his system he'd been well along his way to dying from alcohol poisoning anyway._

_A voice._

"_Open your eyes."_

_The first time his blade crossed with that of another persons- the man that became his teacher, meeting him first, in practise, and later, in play._

_But he was still weak. Far weaker then he wanted to be, and when he found out that the Quickening was a route to power, he began to hunt for them._

Buffy felt sick to her soul, and as weak as a baby. Her entire body was trembling, and all that she could do was lie there.

As the intensity of the memories tampered off, she drew a shaky breath, and tried to gather herself together enough to stand. This action alone, took a few attempts to achieve.

It had been early evening when she entered the old factory, and now, when she emerged form it, it was fully dark.

When Adam had left her the afternoon, he'd given her a phone number, 'Just in case anything came up,' so it was a phone box that she was looking for know, because something had definitely come up. She had a body to dispose of, and nowhere near enough strength to take care of it her self.

And Adam had said, among other things, that cleaning up after oneself was one of the most important things that had to be done at the conclusion of a Challenge.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Methos was dragged out of his light sleep by the sound of the phone ringing in the lounge. As he sat up, grumbling to himself, he looked over towards the clock, which was lit by a silver of light from the bulb that shone in the passage. While it felt like a very late hour, it was really only a little after ten.

As he raised himself from the bed, Ethan stirred, and looked over towards him, blinking sleepily, "…tell me what's up?"

Remnants of sleep stole the first part of his question.

"Phone," he said, as he headed towards the door.

Just as he stepped out, it cut off. Then, seconds later, it began again.

"Just forget it, for once," Ethan grumbled, looking annoyed.

In reply, Methos shook his head, and headed out to the phone in the passage, and picked it up.

Out of curiosity, Ethan followed, dragging him self over to the open doorway and watched as Methos held the phone to his ear and after listening for maybe thirty seconds he spoke.

"Buffy. Slow down, and talk clearly."

He nodded, even though she couldn't see it.

"Mm-hmm. And then?"

Ethan shifted, all of a sudden restless.

"Yes, I see. Where?"

That was followed by another tiny pause.

"Yes, I'm coming. I'll be right there. You just sit down, and try to ground yourself a little. You'll feel better for it."

As he hung up, he turned to Ethan, "Go and start the car, will you? I'll be down in a couple of seconds, I just want to grab something first."

Even through he wanted to know what had gotten Methos up and moving, straight from sleep, he also knew that it was best not to press his luck when the other seemed so serious.

So he headed down, doing exactly what had been asked.

Anyway, he would find out soon enough, if things panned out in the way they seemed to be doing.

True to his word, Methos was down a few second later, and gesturing for him to slide over so that he could take the drivers seat. As he settled himself in the seat, he offered one more piece of advice, in that brisk no-arguments tone of his, "When we get there make sure you call me by Adam."

No explanations. Ethan frowned at that, but he still knew better then to say anything.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

As Methos pulled up to the old factory the first thing that he spotted was Buffy, sitting on ground outside, arms around her knees, shivering.

He got out of the car, even as Ethan remained sitting in his seat, and quickly crossed the bedrock to where she was.

"Holding out?"

Again, a small shiver, as she looked up towards him, "I don't like it. It's like he's in my head. I see one little thing, that doesn't mean anything to me, and it triggers even more memories. I…God, I don't know what to do. With them, or how to…to stop them, or anything. I just want it to stop."

He pressed a hand to her shoulder, and sighed, "All that you can do is wait it out. That's all that anyone can do, and it will get less intense. Eventually, it will pass."

"That's…that's…that's all?" She sounded close to the edge of panic.

He squeezed, lightly, "Yes," then he got to business, because he could always come back once the body was taken care of, "He inside?"

She looked up at him, blankly, for a few seconds, before she nodded.

He headed back to the car, and stopped at the passenger door, speaking in what was now a slightly exasperated tone, " Ethan. Get your arse out of that seat, and give me a hand with this."

The Brit frowned, "And are you ever going to tell me what exactly 'this' is?"

"A body, in the building over there. And your magick will make things a lot easier."

"Oh."

It was all that he really could think of, in answer. They crossed over to the building, and slipped inside with ease.

As he looked towards the headless body, frowning, he spotted something that was chalk-white lying near it. He crouched to investigate, and winced, on seeing that it was a gnawed looking human bone.

Methos directed his attention to the sword, recognizing it in a heartbeat.

"Aaron Coleman. Comes from Washington, has a minor reputation as a headhunter. He's quite young, if memory serves, only been playing the Game for maybe a decade at the outside, and already just on a dozen heads to his name, too."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, and whistled, softly, "And she bet him. Damned impressive, that."

"Luck as much as skill, I'd say. Look at how close he is to that bone. I think he went over on it."

"That really is some luck."

As Ethan talked, he reached inwards for his power, and turned the amount that he needed outwards to the body, focusing on it now, with proper intent. While Methos was older, and had learnt some magick through route, he hadn't been born to it, and so he didn't have the raw, natural talent that the Mage had. And that meant that something like this was infinitely easier for Ethan to manage.

Theis wasn't the first time that Ethan had used magick to hide a body, and he had learnt, through the little practise that he'd had, that the best spell to use, in this instance, was a transmogrification. While it took a lot of raw energy, it was also impossible to uncover, due to the layers that he wove into it. Settling into a crouch, Ethan rested a hand on the shoulder, and turned his power out in several perfectly measured bursts. The first dropped the slowly fading aura, the second twisted and destroyed the internal organs, and bones, and muscles, and the third shrunk and twisted the outer body out of shape, until it resembled a tiny patch of moisture. The head carried no lingering aura of it's own, so it was a simple matter to dissolve it.

As with any powerful magick, for a few moments Ethan became totally helpless, as he was transfixed by the manipulated, shifting, morphing energy. It was only as Methos settled a hand onto his shoulder that he was drawn back into himself. He glanced up, a grateful expression in his eyes.

"Thank-you. I hate feeling like I'm going to...to..._lose_ myself."

Methos nodded, "You're fine," his voice was exceedingly gentle, a combination of the protectiveness that he was feeling towards the shivering teen sitting outside the factory, and the knowledge of what had happened to him the last time that Ethan had lost his sense of self to magick. Taking one last glance around the factory, he helped Ethan back up to a standing position, and headed back outside.

As he stepped out and started heading back over to Buffy, who hadn't moved so much as an inch from where he'd left her, he heard a foot scraping on the ground. It wasn't something that anyone else had picked up on, but in Methos's eyes it was more then enough to give the waiter in the shadows away. Without any thing that could have given him away, he spun, mid-step, and ran towards the dark corner of the yard. The sound of footstep, running, let him know that he hadn't been imagining things, and seconds later he was in a position to reach out and grab the person by the shoulder, spinning them around, and dragging her out into the light.

Buffy slowly looked up to see what was going on, blinked a couple of times, and frowned.

Ethan, as he came out moments later, looked livid on seeing whom it was that Methos was holding on to.

And Buffy was the first one to speak, in a tiny voice, "Miss Calender. What are you doing here?"

He tugged her forward a little more, and realization dawned in his expression as he realized that she was trying to keep all attention from her left hand. He grabbed the hand with one of his own, the sleave with the other, and pulled it back, even as she was trying to pull away, to reveal a small tattoo on her wrist, which showed a circle within a circle, and inside that a double arch, that resembled a bird in flight.

"Watcher," Methos growled, in a very dangerous tone.

Ethan, coming up behind him, spoke, his words tinged with hatred, and not a little jealousy, even though he would never admit to it, "But you were in town before any of us arrived, or were outed. What were you doing here in the first place?"

All attention had been on Jenny, but that changed when Buffy spoke again, "What do you mean she's a Watcher? Surely Giles would have mentioned something."

She looked at the Immortal that had a very secure grasp on her, and after trying, unsuccessfully, one more time, to wriggle lose, she sighed and settled.

"So, that's the cat out of the bag."

"That's one way to put it," Methos said, raising an eyebrow.


	21. Chapter 20:Resentment,and Dealings

**Chapter 20**

**Resentment, and Dealings with the Devil**

When Methos pulled up outside of Joyce's house, the first thing he noticed was that the outside light was on. And the second thing that he noticed was that Joyce herself was standing on the front porch, with her arms crossed her chest, and an annoyed, worried scowl on her face. She looked as though she had been standing there for quite some time.

As Buffy spotted her there she winced, and looked up briefly, towards Adam, before lowering her head and climbing slowly out of the car, as though she were attempting to prolong the time between moving from one rough situation, into another. Which was actually quite likely to be the case.

As she saw her daughter climb out of the car with all of her limbs intact, the concern faded, leaving only the anger.

"Buffy Anne Summers."

Joyce had moved he hands from that crossed position, to rest on her hips, and Buffy winced again.

_I'm sure middle names were only invented to let people know that they're in trouble._

She tried her most disarming smile, even though she really didn't feel up to dealing with this right now.

"Umm, hey mom. What's up?"

"What's up is that you agreed that you were going to be back three hours ago."

Methos followed Buffy out of the car, and up on to the porch. There was no way that he was going to let her face the Spanish Inquisition, after the night that she's had.

"My apologies, Joyce. This time the blame lies entirely with me."

He turned her glare onto him, but he'd face things that were a lot more frightening then an angry Joyce Summers, throughout his life. Granted, he couldn't think of many at the moment, but he knew that they'd been there.

"And you. You should know better. It's a school night."

Buffy looked at him with gratitude, as she slunk in through the door, with Joyce right behind, and Methos only a few steps behind her. She needn't have bothered with the slinking, because her full wrath was now effectively directed towards Methos.

She headed towards the kitchen, but Joyce stopped her in her tracks.

"The only place that you're going, young lady, is up stairs, and straight to bed."

She shot a furtive glance at Methos.

"Listen to your mother."

She swung back to anger, before she became resigned.

"Some help you are," she growled, as she headed towards he room. Then she paused half-way up the stairs, and looked back, "'Night."

"Good night, Buffy."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Once Buffy had vanished from view, Joyce rounded on him.

"What were you thinking, keeping a young girl out until after twelve, on a school night? I specifically told her that she had to be back by nine. Or were you not thinking at all?"

Methos frowned at her, and for a few seconds she caught a glimpse of someone that she didn't recognize, raising up within in his eyes. Someone that was cold, and hard, and that no one would purposely pit themselves against. But then, just as quickly as it had risen, it was gone. So swiftly, in fact, that Joyce could have almost convinced herself that she'd imagined it.

"She may be young, but she hasn't been a child for one hell of a long time. You should at least be able to understand that, even if you won't ever experience it."

She had taken a step back, as he had spoken, and was simply looking at him.

He caught himself, before he could start again, because Joyce didn't deserve this. As a mother, she had every right to worry about her daughter, and nothing would ever stop her from doing so. And besides, it wasn't actually her that he was angry with.

He sighed.

"Sorry. You didn't deserve that."

He sunk down onto her couch, without waiting for an invitation, and put his head in his hands.

Then he looked back up at her, and gestured for her to sit beside him.

"I know that she's not a child. But she will always be my daughter."

Methos nodded.

"Of course she will."

"I just…I just worry."

_So do I._

He bit back on the words, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking them. Already, the hours long training session that he had given Buffy had proved fruitful. The fact that she was still alive was proof that his paranoia was entirely justified. None of his concern was misplaced.

But he would never be in a position to admit it, because she would never be able to understand why he hadn't come straight back to her. Although, if truth were to be told, he hadn't actually fully understood the extent of what he had been leaving behind.

"Don't suppose you've got anything here to drink."

"Tea, coffee, water, and milk. I haven't had anything else here since you…well, since…you know."

He did know.

Methos closed his eyes for a while. In fact, he sat, like that, eyes shut and back against the couch for long enough that she began to wonder if he hadn't fallen asleep right then and there.

But then he spoke again, without bothering to open his eyes.

"You've done a good job, bringing her up."

"I…" she stopped, taken aback. She wasn't sure what it was, that she'd been expecting, but that certainly hadn't been it.

"Thank-you."

"I'd imagine it wasn't easy, either."

"You have no idea."

"Actually," Methos smiled to himself, "You would be surprised. There have been a few children, over the years, which I've helped with. It was never one of my favourite things, but still…and if I hadn't been killed in front of you, then I would have stayed around to help you out, as well."

Joyce frowned at him, even though he couldn't see it, "How could you not like children? Even when it's hard, it's still one of the most rewarding things that I've ever done."

"Because it's hard, watching other people leaving their mark on the future. Watching people, who have something that's even more important oneself. Seeing the new generations come around, and not being able to add to it, yourself. Seeing others, with children, and grandchildren. The love that comes into it…Once upon a time, I was bitter about it. Then I passed that, and there was just no more reason to care, because caring would only do more harm then good."

His smile had become a frown, and he had opened his eyes again, to find himself inches away from Joyce, her blue eyes meeting his brown, directly, without flinching.

He had said far more then he had been planning to.

Around Joyce he always said more then what he wanted to.

He always thought, before he opened his mouth around other people.

Almost always, anyway -there were very few people that he was ever completely honest with, at least these days.

He wasn't even entirely honest with himself. Because if he had been, then he would have had to admit…

But no, never mind. He had a feeling that he had over stayed his welcome. It was just going on one in the morning, and it had been three nights since he'd last gotten any decent sleep.

He rose from the couch, and nodded to Joyce, who rose after him, and followed him out to the door, so that she could lock up behind him.

"Good night, Adam."

Her voice was soft, as she stood in the doorway, looking after him.

"Good night, Joyce. I'll catch you another time."

She forced the words out, before she could re-think them, "Why not tomorrow, or today, anyway, at around twelve? I wasn't doing anything. And we do need to talk. Properly."

"That could work."

He allowed a quick smile, before climbing back into the car.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Giles tossed, and rolled over, moaning, in his sleep. Until tonight, he had been able to fool himself into thinking that the nightmares had been caused by the way things had ended with Ethan.

But that would work no longer.

He could hear broken laughter, and see a pair of glowing, yellow-green eyes coming towards him, out of the inky darkness.

He gasped, and jerked, and thrashed, and his head caught his headboard, hard enough to wake him from his restless sleep.

He sat up, and looked around the room, straining his eyes hard; as though just by willing it, he could make what he was looking for appear out of thin air.

At least then he would be able to face _it_ down. Would have to be a hell of a lot better then lying here, on his own, sweating, and scared.

He couldn't be bother turning on the light. Even with it off there was no way that would be able to get back to sleep.

At least he knew that Ethan was safe, that he hadn't triggered it.

Silently, he ran a finger over the mark that he knew was on his arm -the mark that had been the beginning of the end, not just between him and Ethan, but also of everything.

"Damn it. You're the last thing I wanted to be dealing with."

He spoke out loud, to the darkness, and felt a lot better for hearing the sound of his own voice breaking the heavy silence.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Jenny was not at all thrilled with the way she had been dismissed. Just who did Rupert Giles think he was, choosing a Chaos Mage, and known criminal, over her?

She loved him, and wanted him, and when she had told him as much he had thrown it back at her, and said that he _loved_ Ethan. There was no way that someone like Rupert could ever _love_ a person like Rayne.

Admittedly, she had told him that he had to make a choice, but he shouldn't have made _that_ choice.

It seemed she would have to take matters into her own hands.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Richie breathed in deeply, and dropped into a crouch, so that he was eye to reptilian eye with what was before him.

"Star Reader. It seems as though it has been an age. How are things?"

Kali-taron tilted his head back, and rose to his full height, so that he was above the young man.

~*_They defy me. They continue to test me. The child almost broke the pact, and the Queen can not hold much longer_*~

"Did you expect any difference?"

~*_I expected respect_*~

"They test you because of your youth, and because the last time a Star Reader was recognized as the pack leader, it was over a thousand years ago. And, if memory serves, from what I've heard, he failed miserably. So, who was it, that was almost killed?"

~*_The one you ordered untouched_*~

"Of course. It had to happen."

Kali-taron grinned, revealing his double rows of teeth.

~*_And the power that we need? _*~

"Everything's almost ready to go. Just remember your side of things."

~*_You think me untrustworthy_*~

There was no question what so ever, in it.

"Yes, I do. I'd be a fool _to_ trust you."

~*_Rest assured, child. The feeling is mutual_*~

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

When Methos got back, and let himself in, he wasn't particularly surprised to find that Ethan had already arrived there. What he did find surprising, however, was that he was still sleeping uneasily.

Maybe things hadn't worked out how he had thought that they would.

Well, he wouldn't have to wait for much longer, because _he _was going to take care of things. If he ever caught Jenny crossing the line, and interfering with his family again…any of his family, for that matter -whether Ethan, or Buffy, he wasn't particularly choosy.

With a gentle hand, he stirred Ethan, this time careful to avoid flailing hands, and feet.

"Thanks," was all that he said.

"Gonna tell me what's up, this time?"

"Nothing, or nothing like you think, anyway. I'm just…having bad dreams, I guess. I'd thought that they would have passed, but…maybe it's time to talk to Rupert about it…if he's been…"

Methos didn't even have to repress a sigh. Of course, the first few time Ethan had spoken in that awful, fragmented style, without finishing anything, it had been a different story, but now, he was actually used to it. He knew enough to read between the lines these days, and besides, it wasn't as though getting frustrated would actually do anything to change Ethan. The man would always be who he was.


	22. Chapter 21:Conversations Surrounding

**Chapter 21**

**Conversations Surrounding Breakfast**

Ethan was up before the sun rose the next morning, and in the shower first thing. He had spent the better part of the night tying desperately to get back to sleep, and had finally decided that he didn't stand a chance, some time after four. So, he had spent the rest of the morning simply enjoying the quiet, and his own thoughts.

The warm pounding of the water soothed stiff muscles, and brought a small smile to his face. He turned, and tilted his head back, shutting his eyes as the water washed over his face, and raising hand he ran it back through his hair, pausing only to work out one particularly stubborn snare that insisted on wrapping around his fingers.

_Breakfast with Ripper. Who would have thought it?_

His smile spread a little further. In spite of the dreams that had haunted him, he was still looking forward to this. A few years ago, if someone had told him that he would be about to do this, no argument between them, and no pressure, he'd have laughed and asked when the next dose of medication was due.

After running the water for fifteen minutes, he finally stepped out, and dragged a comb through his hair. He couldn't be bothered doing much more then that, but it wasn't as though it were hard for him to get away with it. And besides, a decent shirt, and pressed pants could work wonders.

He had always been a reasonably flashy dresser, because most people formed an impression of someone within the first half-minute of meeting them. And a good top could make all the difference.

When he'd got back last night, he had hung a coat hanger on the door handle, with a nice plain white shirt, a red jacket, and simple black jeans. As he dressed in them, he felt a flash of nostalgia. In his youth he'd have been getting himself up in too-tight leather pants, some skin-tight top, which should have more then likely been classed as obscene, the black nail polish on his left hand, a few heavy rings, a lot of eyeliner, and possibly even a small hint of some bronzer, or…

He shook his head to snap himself out of it. He was well past all of that now. If he tried to do that these days then he would probably find himself arrested for vulgarity. But, it it's time it had been fun.

A quick glance at the clock on the way down stairs told him everything that he wanted to know. It was a ten-minute walk over to Rupert's place, and it was just on six thirty. Even in the even of a localized apocalypse, he would still have plenty of time to get there.

He paused at the bottom, and called up, to Methos who was just in the process of heading into the shower, him self, "I'll catch you later, old man."

He waited for a few moments, before the reply drifted back down stairs.

"Watch yourself, boy."

Nothing could kill his good mood. Not even a five thousand year old man calling him 'boy' -although, admittedly, from his perspective he probably was nothing more then a child. And he had been asking for it, with the 'old man' comment.

_Then again, so is the rest of humanity, too._

He grabbed the spare key from the bowl sitting on the table just before the door, and headed out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was seven when Buffy was dragged out of her sleep by the buzzing of the alarm clock. Her eyes felt heavy as she stretched, and yawned, and slowly sat up, felling a little dizzy as she did so. The sounds and smells of some old war slowly faded, to be replaced by the far more welcome light of day.

As she dressed, and made her way down to the kitchen, she yawned again, and this time Joyce spotted it. Buffy braced her self for a barrage of criticisms, about being home on time next time, and such, but none were forthcoming.

_Wow, I'm impressed._

She wished that she knew what Adam had said to her mom last night.

This time she raised her hand to cover the next budding yawn, and Joyce couldn't help but give her a look, even though she still didn't say anything.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_You're being foolish._

Ethan berated himself, as he stood outside Rupert's door, unable to bring himself to knock. The only think that had changed between today and yesterday, was that he was welcome.

But he was unwilling to put it to the test in case he really had dreamed the events of last night. It would be just his luck, really, to knock and be welcomed with a fist to the gut.

_Get over yourself. Just because something's finally going right for you, doesn't mean that the world is going to fall out from under your feet._

He raised a fist, and hesitated again.

_Even if it always has in the past..._

He knocked.

Two firm sharp decisive thumps.

The door was opened quickly. Quickly enough that Ethan could imagine, for a few moments, his old friend standing just inside the door, waiting.

Giles raised an eyebrow, "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming, or whether you'd forgotten how to get here."

"Ahh. Well. Yes."

Ethan was, for a few moments, unsure of what to say. Then, just when he was starting to despair, he was struck by sudden inspiration. It may not have been his usual level of brilliance, but at least it was better then nothing.

"Good morning to you, too."

"Good morning, Ethan. I'll just grab my jacket, if you wanted to let yourself in to the car."

He tossed the keys, underarm, over his shoulder, as he turned to grab his own jacket from off the coat hook, and Ethan caught them with ease, turning, and heading out to where the car was parked, and let himself in, reaching across to put the keys in the ignition. Seconds later, Giles came out, and stood beside the drivers door with his arms crossed, and the expression on his face, a mixture of amusement, and exasperation, on his face, a tiny hint of pure Ripper.

Ethan offered an apologetic grin, one of his most sincere, as he reached over once again, and unlocked the driver's door. A grin, which Rupert knew just as well as he did, wasn't worth a shadows weight in sand.

"I didn't notice?" He offered, as Giles swung himself into the drivers seat.

Giles rolled his eyes, "Of course you didn't. Just like that time when we were out at that club in London's east end, and you _didn't_ notice that…"

"Perfect example, actually," Ethan cut across the rest of the comment, knowing full well what the other was going to say, "Because if I'd have noticed _that_, then it wouldn't have _stayed _that way."

At times like this there was only one rational thing to say.

"Whatever you say, Ethan. Whatever you say."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Angel had arrived back in town just as the false dawn had been showing, and so he'd had just enough time to get inside before he would have been risking a decidedly fatal tan.

And now, all that he could do was pace, restlessly, through his home.

Something was happening in Sunnydale again.

He could practically smell it in the air. It was something, which threw the feel of everything else off.

Something unclean.

Something deadly.

He heard a footstep behind him, and spun. Even with his senses on full alert, he hadn't picked up this persons entry.

He drew a deep, unneeded breath; to catch this mans scent, if he was a man, as he took a step towards him. And he froze in mid-step.

_That can't be right._

His scent was such a mixture of everything. It ought to have been impossible. He could smell _age_ as though it were ingrained in his very pores. If his impression was correct, then this man was _ancient_. As old, if not older, then the pyramids themselves.

He raised an eyebrow, "You must be Angel. You've changed a lot since the time I last saw you. You weren't a killer, then."

He could feel his face morphing, as the demon came forward, its rage at the invasion, tainting his thoughts. He may have a soul, but that didn't mean that the demon was gone. Just that he could master it.

The man showed no reaction, as he watched the change going through the vampire. Somehow, Angel wasn't surprised.

"Who the hell are you?" He growled, as his voice was twisted into a guttural snarl by the elongated fangs.

"Let's just say that I'm not someone that you want as an enemy. Buffy speaks quite highly of you, but I know who you truly are, Angelus. I know a lot about peoples true natures."

He felt a hint of terror, at the thought that this man had made Buffy talk. There was nothing that worried him more then the thought that he may have done something to hurt her. He didn't care for himself if she wasn't safe.

Methos saw this all going through the eyes of the creature before him, and nodded to himself. He would only do the slayer well, as long as he didn't slip. He could tell, just from those few seconds that he loved her.

_Children, all of them, to still believe in love._

"If you've done anything to her…"

He had seen what he needed. It was time to pull his arse out of the fire, not that the vampire had posed any real threat to him, anyway. But assuring one's own safety would be the type of thing that any real human would do.

"The name's Adam. Adam Pierson."

Angel frowned. _That's an alibi, if I've ever heard one._

"Don't worry yourself. I haven't done anything to her, other then help."

He narrowed his eyes, "You expect me to believe that?"

"You don't have to take my word for it, though. You can see her for yourself, as soon as night falls."

Angel closed his eyes, and attempted to calm him self. When he opened them again, Adam was gone again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ethan gave the waitress his most charming smile, and felt a small twinge of joy go through him, as she reddened slightly. It was such a silly thing, but…

_I've still got it._

His smile deepened, and became genuine.

"So, what'll it be this morning, gentleman?"

He could feel his old mischievous nature coming to the forefront. It was being here, with Ripper that did it. The man only had himself to blame.

"I'll have a shrimp cocktail, followed by your best large steak, medium-rare, chocolate cake for desert, and a bottle of your finest chardonnay."

"No, he won't," Giles cut across, only a tiny trace of sharpness in his tone, before any of that could be written down, only a tiny trace of sharpness in his tone. And that could have easily been imagined. "He'll have something that I can actually afford."

It was far too soon to pout. If he over-played it, then things could too easily go back to the way they were before.

"Should have told me that there was a price limit, before we came in," he chided gently, unable to keep the hint of grin from tugging at the corner of his mouth.

There was silence for a few moments. Giles waited. And sure enough, seconds later…

"Well, does your budget stretch far enough to cover the cost of the chardonnay, on it's own?"

"Ethan."

Fine. Sweet pancakes, and a cappuccino?"

"That, however, _is _manageable. Double it, and you're fine."

Again, he waited. And, yep, there it was, just as they sat down at a table outside.

"Indulgent, this morning, are we?"

Giles looked at him, "I had a rather less then restful night's sleep."

"You sound like a Watcher, when you use all those big words. But, yes, I do know what you mean. I was hoping that they'd pass, with the stress, but…"

"Yes, as was I."

The drinks were brought out, and Ethan took a sip of his, before putting it down quickly.

All that Giles did was smirk. It had been a long time since Ethan had last seen _that_ expression on his face.

"They are meant to be hot drinks, you know."

"Yes, but not at a temperature which could potentially scald one's skin."

"I honestly don't see what you have to complain about. All that a burnt tongue will do, to you, is pose a very temporary discomfort. If it had been me, on the other hand…"

Now that was _almost_ a mood-killer. Being reminded of the fact the he had officially died. Almost, being the key word. Because he'd told himself that he wasn't going to let _anything_ get to him today. The last thing that he wanted was for things to break down, and to part ways on a sour note. Again.

It was easy; to make small talk, but it had always felt false to do so whenever he had been with Ethan. It was far easier to fall into what was at least a semi-comfortable silence. And seconds later the perfect excuse came along, as breakfast was brought out.

Finally, though, there was no choice but to talk about the giant pink elephant that was standing in the middle of the room.

"So, Rupert, what are we going to do about it?"

"I don't suppose you stayed in contact with anyone, after we all went our separate ways?"

"Actually, I did -those that were still talking to me, anyway. Used to make a point of catching up with Deirdre every six months or so, and I spoke Phillip on the phone quite a lot. Usually got in touch once a month, or so. But I rather fell out of contact with them, when…well, you know…People moved, phone numbers changed, and my teacher said that it'd be best to make a fresh start."

He did know. He reached across the table, and traced a thumb lightly down the scar, "I am sorry about all of it, you know. I'd never meant for…I'd half thought that you'd be gone by the time you were around the corner -or as soon as you woke up, anyway. Never crossed my mind to wonder how they'd held other sorcerers."

Ethan caught the hand, before it could pull away.

"Stop feeling sorry for me, Rupert. I don't need it."

He heard the unsaid words under it.

_I can't handle it._

"Even with everything, I am determined to have a good day today. And nothing that _you_ can do is going to change my mind. It'll be easy enough to get a hold of phone numbers, later. So stop being a downer, and enjoy the rest of the morning, or I swear I going to make you eat until you do."

He had always been amazed at the way Ethan's mood could change, just like the bloody weather -If not faster.

"Still always have to have the last say, don't you?"

"I haven't changed _that _much, Rupert."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So are you ready for the history test?"

Buffy looked at Willow, disbelief in her eyes, "And this would be the history test that I didn't know about, why?"

"But I gave you all of my notes, and everything. How could you not have known about it?"

Buffy sighed. It seemed like today was going to be one of those days, after all.


	23. Chapter 22:Plots and Plans

**Chapter 22**

**Plots and Plans**

"So, Buffy," Giles cleared his throat. Buffy had decided to spend it in the library, with Giles, and the rest of her friends, "How do you think the test went, today?"

Buffy frowned at him.

"I am so over exams. I don't even want to think about how it went. I don't even want to get the results. And I totally do _not_ get why they had to have another one, only days after the last practise test. I mean, it's not even near mid-terms, yet, and they're still trying to load us up, and weigh us down."

"I don't think it did go," Willow clarified, just in case there had been any confusion over Buffy's eloquent way of putting things.

"Did you want to do the spiel, or did you want me to?" Ethan looked overly cocky, as he asked.

Giles glanced over at him. He knew Ethan's masks too well, and this was a very familiar one. He was concerned, and hiding it behind a show of confidence. And the only thing that there was to do, was play along.

"Spiel?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes, you know the one, Rupert, all about how education is next to godliness, and all that."

"I have never, in my life, said that knowledge is next to godliness."

"Misquoting me, dear."

Buffy's eyebrow rose at the casual way that Ethan tacked 'dear' onto the end of his sentence, but she didn't say anything.

" I said education not knowledge -Although, A does rather hark to B. And, yes, you may not have said it, but I'd be hard-pressed to imagine that you haven't thought it at least once."

Giles bit back the comment that was on the tip of his tongue. There was no was that he was going to say _that_ around the impressionable youths that had fallen under his wing.

Ethan, however, still managed to read something into his expression, and smirked.

And Giles was extremely glad when the bell rang seconds later, allowing no time for speculation.

Ethan looked up at Buffy, just before she left, and gave her what seemed to be a casual smile, "Why not come back after last period. Frankly, I'd love to watch how you go about kicking Rupert's arse, and I'd say that you look like you've got a little energy to burn."

"Yeah, sure."

As soon as the last of the people had left, Giles cut across the room, to look over Ethan's shoulder, at the piece of paper that he was scribbling on. As well as several phone numbers, over half of the crossed out, or only half-written, there were several designs here and there, around the corners, and over the border.

For a few moments he was remembering the first time he'd meet the other, when he'd snuck out of the house after being grounded.

_I rather fancy myself an artiest, you know._

Maybe if they hadn't met, if things hadn't played out the way they did, then it _would _have happened.

Ethan looked up at him, and held up the page, after circling a couple of the numbers.

"This is the best that I can do, I'm afraid. It _has _been five years, after all. If the calls don't go through directly, then you should at least be able to get through to someone who can give you the proper numbers."

"Me?" Giles asked, looking at him.

"Yes, you. I'd imagine that your reception would be a little warmer then the one that I'd get."

"It may have been five years, for you, but it's been twice that length for me. You've been the only person that I've seen, out of everyone, in the last ten years. I haven't spoken to _anyone_ since that night when it all went wrong."

"You still miss Rand."

There was no question in it, but Giles felt that it still deserved an answer.

"Of course I do. He was my best friend, since I was ten years old, and I was forced to kill him, over a stupid miscalculation," Giles swallowed. If there was anything that he hated having to talk about, then it was _that._

He felt a brief pressure around his free hand, and glanced towards it, just in time to see Ethan loosening his grasp again.

Ethan was the one offering _him_ a little comfort. He felt a twinge of guilt, over it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Surprised, wasn't quite the word for what he felt, over the fact that Joyce had asked him to come over for lunch. It had been the last thing that he'd been expecting, when he'd left last night. Which was more than proof enough that there were still people in the world that could amaze, and disconcert him.

He didn't think that it was a good thing, either.

Although it was nice to have life given a little mystery again.

Reminded him of the night that he'd met her, of the reason that he'd gone out with her in the first place.

_The year is 1980, and the date, is June 15__th__._

_Methos had originally moved to L.A because he wanted a change in scenery. And when one had quite literally seen it all, and done it all, then the only real sort of place to go that one could even start to consider as new, was the city._

_He was still overly fond of Egypt, but he needed something that would refresh him. Most people may not have considered L.A the best of places for that, but then, he wasn't most people._

_He found the rush of the city amusing –always had. If people slowed down a little, and took a few moments to appreciate what was around them, then it wouldn't be the death of them, but no one seemed to realise that. No one seemed to appreciate that fact, or understand it._

_It only seems to be possible for those who have lived several lifetimes to come to this conclusion._

_The last thing that he was looking for, in this stint in the city, was a relationship._

_He took a room at an apartment that tended to be frequented by students, and single mothers. Reasonably priced, not that that would have made any difference to him, and moderately comfortable. He'd stayed here before, and the only thing that had really changed about this particular place, were the tenants._

_It had stayed in the same family for a couple of generations, and each owner had kept the place well up to standard._

_Methos liked his creature comforts, probably a response to the hard time that he'd once had to survive. A comfortable bed, a warm home, beer in the fridge, and what was even better, a chance to interact with other people without having to truly know them._

_He had company that would never get too close._

_But he hadn't been bothered checking out the current residents, or not beyond making sure that none of them were fellow Immortals, whether full participants of the Game, or Immortal -Because the last thing that he wanted, was to be stuck with a newly created Immortal under his wing, or a fight on his hands, especially just as he was getting settled._

_And so, it was three weeks before he met his new neighbour for the first time, a rather striking, reasonably young woman, with brown eyes and slightly red hair._

_The way, in which he met her, was rather unique, as well._

_She had followed a young boy of fourteen out onto the ledge of the ten-storey high apartment building, in order to convince him that jumping off wasn't the best way to deal with his problems._

_And what problems they were._

_Of course he had followed her to the rooftop. If it had been up to him, then he'd have just grabbed the boy and thrown him back, away from the edge, before talking. But when he'd gone to approach, the boy had gone even closer to the edge, to the point where he was wavering._

_And so, all that he could do, was stand back._

_Stand back and watch, as, in spite of the tension and fear, and obvious distaste for heights, which was evidenced by the tension with which she held herself, she went forward to talk the boy back._

_Once she had him safely back, and inside, then he couldn't deny any longer that there was something drawing him forward. Something that whispered deep inside his mind and the long untouched depths of his soul. Something that urged, and cajoled, and mocked, and taunted, until he finally stepped forwards._

_And so he did so, acting on instinct that had rarely steered him wrong._

_Of course, he didn't use his real name. Even though she was only human his sense of caution still won out, in that area. _

"_Adam Pierson." He said, as he extended a hand, introducing himself._

_She looked right back at him, meeting his eyes, like so few ever dared to, and took the hand._

"_Joyce. Joyce Summers."_

_Two nights later they were having dinner together and two weeks after that, when they got back he invited her in._

_She told him that she had never taken a relationship this far this fast. Even though he told her that if she didn't want to take the next step he __was__ perfectly happy to wait she still responded to the kiss, gentle at first, which he pressed to her lips._

_She had never known something to feel so …so…right._

_She kissed him back, looking forward to the moment when she would slide between his sheets. A moment, that wasn't far off at all._

_When she woke the next morning, in a comfortable tangle of limbs, one arm wrapped lightly around her chest, and a warm weight against her back, she felt better then she had in a long time._

_And for the first time in centuries, Methos felt something that he'd though long dead stirring. He'd thought himself incapable of love, and he still did, but caring wasn't so far out of reach. And maybe, given time, and how right this relationship felt, it could become something deeper. Maybe, just maybe, his heart wasn't dead, after all._

He knocked, and was greeted with a weak, apologetic smile.

"I'm not entirely sure what came over me last night…"

He stood there for a few moments, before speaking, "Well, if you've changed your mind…"

"No," she said, as she stood to one side, "No, not at all. If…if you're going to be a part of Buffy's life…then the least I can do if get along with you. It'll make things easier on her. And maybe you can convince her to…I don't know, give up this 'Slayer' thing, anyway."

They moved smoothly through to sitting room, as thought performing a well-practised dance, with Joyce still talking as they walked.

"I don't like it. I don't like the thought of it, of what she's doing out there -Night after night, after bloody night."

She was talking openly, an outpouring of pent up emotion, to the father of her daughter. If she couldn't talk to him, couldn't trust him, then there was no one that she could talk to.

"I don't want to lost my little girl. She insists black and blue that she's safe, but I know that she's only saying that to placate me. I just want to put my foot down and tell her that she's not allowed to do it any more."

_Well, she's pretty safe these days._

Methos bit down on his lip, to stop himself from speaking the though out loud. One thing that he hadn't confirmed, or denied, clarified or rejected the other night, was that Buffy was like him. He wasn't going to tell Joyce that her only daughter had already died -That _his_ only child, that the only born Pre-Immortal in the history of his race, had already been born to Immortality. She was a strong person, but he didn't think that _that_ news was something that she would be able to handle particularly well. He didn't think that _anyone_ would be able to handle that with ease.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jenny hadn't been in to the school today. She was still pissed off over what had happened last night. The rest that she'd had last night hadn't done anything to soothe the emotional pain, or settle her temper.

The only thing that could do that was the contemplation of the victory that she knew would be hers. She had told Giles that she was a Techno-Pagan, in order to explain her knowledge of magick, but then she'd thought it too risky to play with her full hand. And that was something that seemed as thought it was going to work to her advantage.

No one knew that she had a far older, far more potent form of power at her disposal. No one knew that the very powers of the earth, or of a solid collective, were at her disposal. She had Gypsy magick on her side, and if she couldn't use that to get Ethan out of the picture, and bring Rupert back to her then it was truly a lost cause.

It was his fault, all his fault that it had come to this.

She would have been happy to allow him to continue his relationship with Ethan, in the level of a friendship, but instead, he had announced that he _loved_ Ethan.

It hadn't worked that first time he had tried to pursue the relationship. So there was no reason why he should try again now. No reason why he should imagine that it would work this time.

He had driven her to this.

She knew that he was a Chaos Mage, and it wasn't a far stretch of imagination, to consider the possibility that he had bewitched Rupert.

If she locked him off from his power, bound him, permanently, then things would go back to how they had been before. She had to keep telling herself that, because that thought was the only thing that kept her going.

Of course, once she had bound him he would be free to slink away and lick his wounds, but she knew that he would never settle for that. She knew that once she had done it she would have to kill him.

It may have gone against the oath she had sworn to, to watch, and record, and stay out of the affairs, and it may get her fired, but it would be worth it, to have Rupert back.

And once he was free of the Mage's enchantment, then it surely wouldn't matter to him. He would have to be grateful, because he would be _free._

She had read enough about Rupert's, and Rayne's joint history, that she knew there was _no way_ that he could love him of his own free will.

Not with all the contention that had been between then originally.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Richie was careful to chose a time when he was certain that there would be no one else at the house for his return, because he had a few things that he had to sort out, that were best taken care of in privacy.

The last thing that he needed, was to be stuck answering tricky questions, and he was certain that Ethan would be able to recognize the equipment that he was getting out.

It was time to put things into motion. And soon, he wouldn't have to watch over his shoulder for Duncan any more.

Soon, he would be free of the Game, entirely.


	24. Chapter 23:All Heck Is Breaking Loose

**Chapter 23**

**All Heck Is Breaking Loose**

Ethan watched with an appreciative eye, as Buffy came towards Rupert, grinning. It was obvious to see, from the way she held herself, and carried her self, and moved, that Rupert had put a lot of time into working with her. Training her. Keeping her alive.

She had grumbled when Giles had refused to let her put on what she called music, and what he called 'an infernal racket'. But, aside from that, and a single, pointed look, she had taken it with good grace.

Of course, he mused, as she brought her quarterstaff around, in a sweeping and powerful blow, it was possible that was because she had already been looking forward to her workout. And, as Ethan had pointed out earlier, her chance to 'kick Rupert's arse.'

Janus knew that both Watcher, and Immortal Slayer, would be benefiting from this activity. They were both practically oozing tension. If such a thing were released as a flammable gas, then he would have been prepared to swear that all he'd had to do with the destruction of the High School was that he'd lit a match.

At the thought of being responsible for such a thing, he barely suppressed a chuckle, even though he couldn't keep back the smile that quirked at the corners of his mouth. The last thing that he need was for Rupert to look at him and see the evidence of that thought on his face.

Just as Buffy cut in with a particularly wicked blow towards Rupert's chest, a frantic pounding at the door broke all three of their concentrations.

Buffy stopped, halfway through her strike and step, turning towards the door, as Ethan rose from his seat, and cut across the room.

Just as he reached the door, the pounding sounded again. He knew that if it was something with teeth, or claws, or glowing eyes, then he was going to wind up with a lecture from Ripper on his lack of caution. But there was something about that quick, repeated sound that belayed all hesitation. His intuition was telling him that he'd better get that door open right now, damn it, because if he didn't, then he wouldn't want to face the price which would likely be carved out of his hide.

He opened the door, and was knocked backwards into the library again, as the unannounced, uninvited guest almost threw himself into the library, and spun back, slamming the door and throwing his full weight against it, to hold it.

Finally, he looked up, his breath coming in harsh gasps, which broke the cuss words that were streaming from his mouth.

And fell silent, as he saw who it was that had let him in. In spite of the years Ethan was still recognizable as himself -As was Ripper.

There were maybe a few more grey hairs, a few more lines around eyes that he'd once known as well as his own, and in Ethan's case there was a fresh-old scar, but there was nothing that would make any of them unrecognisable.

And to Giles, it felt as though he'd been whacked upside the head. When he'd spoken with Ethan this morning, about the best course of action to take, the last thing that he'd expected, was someone else from his past to come bursting into his life.

Still, it could easily be a trick. He stepped forward, then saw that Ethan was doing exactly what he'd been going to, even as he spoke the new persons name.

"Phillip Henry?" his voice was half question, and half statement, as he tilted Phillip's head up with a gentle, yet firm hand, and looked, unblinking, into his eyes.

Eyghon had never been able to disguise its true nature for long. If this weren't really Phillip, then Ethan would be able to see the eyes shift.

Finally, after a moment that felt as though it had stretched out for a couple years, rather then a minute or so, Ethan let go, and stepped back, nodding.

"It's him."

"Deirdre," he managed to say, and Ethan shared a significant glance with Ripper, that Buffy couldn't help but notice.

And then the door flung open again, throwing Ethan and Phillip clear across the room.

Giles could feel a drifting, dissociated sort of feeling coming down on him, almost like a drug-induced flashback. It was all that he could do to stay standing, as the power that he'd once revelled in reached out, stoking at his magick, and distancing him from the people that he knew he should be protecting.

There, in the open doorway, stood Deirdre Page, her eyes a shining, silted, reptilian yellow, and her body twisted. Her brow came forward, protruding into a heavy ridge, and her skin was becoming pebbled, almost reptilian. As her lips drew back, pulling into a threatening grin, he could see at least two rows of razor sharp teeth, which were pushing her cheeks out, further distorting her face.

But even with all the heavy changes, there were no signs of a permanent death, unlike the corpses that they'd once summoned Eyghon into, before deciding to up the game, and call the demonic spirit into them selves. There was no sign of greying, or bloating, and what was even more important, was that there was no sign of the body starting to wear down.

The most likely possibility was that she had died, and been revived on a hospital table, which would have meant that while the body had effectively been dead, at the moment it still had a heart to drive it, meaning that it wasn't being consumed by the demon's energy.

Ethan untangled himself from Phillip, and started to rise shakily to his feet, looking towards the open door.

"Fuck," he snarled. In a situation like this, Giles was _not_ going to even think about reprimanding him for his language.

The beast wearing the face of another old friend stepped forward, and grinned openly at Giles.

"Hello Ripper," it spoke, it's voice as distorted by its teeth as its face was. The voice was harsh, as though unused to being used, and it echoed of something that was primeval, and powerful, and old. Something that was old when humanity was still in its infancy.

It went to take another step forward, swaying it's head back and forth, as though in an unconscious mimicry of a snake, as was stopped short, and thrown back, as Buffy sent one serious blow into it's solar plexus, and at the same time slamming her hand down on the arm that it- she – had started to extend.

Even from across the other side of the room Ethan could hear far too human bones snapping, like old firewood. The arm, definitely, and quite likely a few ribs as well.

Eyghon rose, in one smooth movement, and gave one last silent snarl, before it drew back, moving into the shadows.

"You can't hide forever. You all belong to me, and I intend to collect my price," were its parting words, as it was quickly lost from sight.

Once Buffy was certain that it was gone, she turned to glare at the three men herself, freezing them all into place as she growled.

"What the hell is going on here? I want to know, and I wanna know now."

"It doesn't matter what's going on," Giles said to her, as he took his glasses off his face, and began rubbing at them with the corner of his sleeve, as he walked towards his office.

He didn't expect it to be Ethan that stopped him, with a hand on his elbow.

"You don't think that she deserves an explanation, Rupert? Or are you going to try and turn your back on this happening, too?"

His voice was hard, and his words far colder, and harsher then he'd intended.

But at least it was enough to give him pause.

H glared at the hand, which had stopped him short.

"I'm not tuning my bloody back. And what gives you any right to talk to me like that?"

"Where shall I start?" Ethan snapped, as Giles shook his arm free. What had just happened had left all of them feeling less then sure of themselves.

And as quickly as it had come over him, Giles's anger had passed, and all that was in his expression, as he looked at Buffy, who was standing on the other side of the room, her arms crossed over her chest, over to Phillip, who hadn't moved from where he'd landed, to Ethan, who was inches from him, was concern.

And he dropped his eyes.

"I'm sorry. Did you want to grab a seat Buffy?" he asked, as he pushed his glasses back on to his nose, and sat himself down, "this could take some time."

Then he looked at Phillip again, "And did you want to help him up and into a chair, Ethan?"

Phillip blinked, clearing his eyes, as he felt Ethan grabbing him under the arm, and helping him to his feet.

"Ethan?" he asked tentatively, "Ethan Rayne?" The second time he said the name, it was more like he was confirming it, to himself, "You. You're the last person that I expected to find. Thought, at first, that it was you, dead -Dead and gone. Just like everyone else seems to be becoming."

As Ethan helped him into a chair, he flicked his eyes up, "And Rupert. Ripper. Knew you, what you were meant to be. Knew you'd help. If I could find you."

Then he doubled forward, burring his head in his arms, and sobbing. It was a bitter, heartbreaking sound that no one wanted to intrude on.

But even as he sobbed, he still spoke," Dee. Had to be Dee. And it…it – she- killed Amber. My Amber. My wife. Would have killed me, too, but I remembered the shield. Wish I didn't, though. I'm not…don't want to be here. Not without anyone…on my own…"

He trailed off, into silence, and again, Buffy looked over at Giles, feeling extremely uneasy.

"You said that this might take a while. So you'd better get talking."

"Before I start, I need to know that you're going to listen, without interruption."

Buffy nodded, "Sure thing."

Giles heaved a sigh, "When I was younger, I attended Oxford University, up until the time I …err…"

"He dropped out," Ethan supplied, with a lot of satisfaction in his voice. As though he were a dog, looking for some treat, he glanced at Giles, who settled for glaring at him.

The he looked back to Buffy, "Yes, as Ethan so nicely puts it, I 'dropped out'. I was twenty-one at the time, and before you ask, no, I'm not going to go into detail about why I did so. Anyway, Ethan and I found our way to London, and met up with a small group of people whom were toying with magick.

"I was rather disillusioned with what was expected of me. Didn't want a thing to do with what my future was meant to be about, I was sick of the Council looking over my shoulder, and I was _not_ getting along with my father. I never had, really, but by this time I felt as though I were well and truly through with him.

"By the time our magick stopped being fun and games, the group consisted of myself, and seven others. Amber Denise, Deirdre Page, Thomas Sutcliff, Phillip here, a young man, Pre-Immortal, named Randall James and of course, Ethan. Magick became a tool, rather then a past time.

"And we, with all the arrogances, and persistence of youth, summoned a demon -One of the ancients, a primeval force, known as the Sleepwalker, Eyghon.

"We were extremely successful, at first. But as we got more used to things, Eyghon began to grow more powerful. And we got relaxed, and complacent. Eventually, we shifted the base power that we used to cast the spell, changing it for something else. But there were several things that we –that I –didn't think, or know, to factor in.

"And things got out of control. Eyghon came through, too powerful -Far too powerful, and we weren't prepared. It took over Randall's mind, and would have twisted his Immortality to its advantage. I was forced to kill him, before the world was made to pay for our stupidity."

Giles had closed his eyes, and rested his head in his hands. He looked tired.

Ethan, standing behind him, rested a hand on his shoulder, offering the sort of comfort that only an old, close friend could. And when he realised that Ripper was through with speaking, he took up the thread of things.

"We thought that that was it. We'd hoped that Eyghon was gone, but it seems that that were only wistful thinking. It must have been simply biding its time. When we were calling on, we had to swear to serve it. And it seems that the Sleepwalker doesn't take too kindly to being betrayed."

Buffy looked at Giles, even as he stared, determinedly, at the palms of his hands, "Giles?" she asked, as he made no move.

She watched, as Ethan lowered his head, and muttered something in his ear, in a low tone of voice. Finally, he broke his repose, looking up, and blinking at Buffy.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Are you going to be okay?"

She was stunned, and a little disillusioned. But the words that Adam had told her last night still rung in her mind, and she couldn't honestly deny them.

_I'm telling you, straight, because I've a feeling that people may surprise you._

And besides that, he was still her Watcher. He was still human. Knowing his past didn't change the person that he was today.

Ethan saw all the emotions that she was feeling, as he glanced towards her. It seemed that once again, Giles wasn't going to answer, "Don't be too hard on him, Buffy. He _is _only human," he said, before answering the question that she'd asked, "He'll be alright. I'll see to that."

She stood, abruptly.

"I really need to main something. I…I guess I'll see you later."

After another ten minutes of dead silence, Giles drew out from Ethan's gentle grasp, and stood, slowly, drawing a few deep breaths.

There was really no choice for it. There was no way that Phillip was in any state to be on his own, and they would surely be a lot safer, if they stayed together.

With a gentle hand on his shoulder, so as not to startle him, and a quick glance towards Ethan, he stirred Phillip.

"Come on, mate. We're going back to mine. You can crash there for the night

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Seconds after sitting down on the couch, Phillip had stretched out, and was asleep.

Giles raised an eyebrow, as he glanced over toward Ethan, who was standing, leaning against the wall of the sitting room, and asked, "Did you want a scotch, or something?"

"You won't catch me saying no."

Giles grabbed the entire bottle, a couple of cups, and headed up stairs, so as not to disturb the sleeping man. Or so he was telling himself.

Ethan followed, only a couple of steps behind him, and settled himself on the floor, as Giles filled the two glasses, and sat himself, cross-legged, just across from Ethan, handed one cup over, and tilted his own glass back, wincing slightly, at the familiar burn.

It felt good to relax a little.

On the way in Ethan had cast a few wards, so that they would be safe for the night.

There was a whole bottle of scotch between the two of them, and the couch was already occupied. There were only two possible ways that tonight could really end. Either they would get through the entire bottle, and not care about the fact that they were both going to coma out on the carpet.

Or they wouldn't.

Only time would tell.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Buffy came forward, launching a solid kick at the chest of the newborn vampire that had just dragged it's self out of the earth before her.

Originally she had attributed her increased awareness of a vampire's proximity to the number of them that she had been around, but now that she thought about it, she would have to admit that her accuracy had improved after her fight with the Master. After she had been killed for the first time. So, maybe it wasn't so much about the time she'd put in, as it was a latent side effect of being able to sense a whole other type of person.

She grinned as the vampire flew backwards, through the air, and crashed, heavily, into a nearby bush. Heavily enough that, as it went to rise and renew its attack seconds later, the only thing that came at her were several dust particles. When it went down, a half-snapped branch had gone up, into its back, and straight through its heart.

A flare of disappointment, brief, yet sharp. She'd really been spoiling to cause that one pain.

Giles.

Her mother.

Her father, who she'd thought was Hank. When had Hank come in to things, anyway?

Was no one who she'd thought they were?

Was everyone keeping secrets?

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The bottle of scotch was only half-gone when Giles put it down, finality echoing in his actions.

"I do need some sleep, if I'm to be of any use to anyone at all tomorrow," he muttered, as he lay down, fully clothed, under the covers.

Ethan stretched out on the floor, moving, so that he was resting over the warm patch of floor that Rupert had left behind.

"Mind tossing us a pillow down, Ripper?" he asked, not willing to voice anything further, least he wind up having to sleep out in the hallway, or half-way up the stairs.

Instead, Rupert glanced at him, before throwing up the covers with one hand, and rolling over, on to his side, turning his back to Ethan, "Don't be stupid," he sighed, as he shut his eyes, "You mind getting the light, too?"

Ethan stood, and flicked the light off, before standing at the side of the bed, in silence, thinking.

Rupert glared at him. Ethan could see the flash of those green eyes, even in the darkness.

"Bloody hell, Ethan. Make your damn mind up."

He laid himself down in the left side of the bed, and Rupert rested his head back down, again.

There was a part of him that did desperately want to push it. But he didn't want Rupert to feel uncomfortable. He didn't want to give him reason to think that he'd made the wrong choice. Didn't want to provide an excuse for him to take the easy way out.

It had only been last night that Rupert had said that he still loved him, but he knew how he would feel, were he in Rupert's sensible shoes. He'd be uncertain, and hesitant, and questioning himself.

He rolled over, onto his own side; so that his back was to Rupert, and he felt the stiffness with which the other had been holding him self slip away.

Maybe, tonight, with the wards that he'd cast then he would actually be able to get a decent sleep tonight.

"'Night, Ripper," he spoke softly.

"Good night, Ethan."


	25. Chapter 24:Baiting The Traps

**Chapter 23**

**All Heck Is Breaking Loose**

Ethan watched with an appreciative eye, as Buffy came towards Rupert, grinning. It was obvious to see, from the way she held herself, and carried her self, and moved, that Rupert had put a lot of time into working with her. Training her. Keeping her alive.

She had grumbled when Giles had refused to let her put on what she called music, and what he called 'an infernal racket'. But, aside from that, and a single, pointed look, she had taken it with good grace.

Of course, he mused, as she brought her quarterstaff around, in a sweeping and powerful blow, it was possible that was because she had already been looking forward to her workout. And, as Ethan had pointed out earlier, her chance to 'kick Rupert's arse.'

Janus knew that both Watcher, and Immortal Slayer, would be benefiting from this activity. They were both practically oozing tension. If such a thing were released as a flammable gas, then he would have been prepared to swear that all he'd had to do with the destruction of the High School was that he'd lit a match.

At the thought of being responsible for such a thing, he barely suppressed a chuckle, even though he couldn't keep back the smile that quirked at the corners of his mouth. The last thing that he need was for Rupert to look at him and see the evidence of that thought on his face.

Just as Buffy cut in with a particularly wicked blow towards Rupert's chest, a frantic pounding at the door broke all three of their concentrations.

Buffy stopped, halfway through her strike and step, turning towards the door, as Ethan rose from his seat, and cut across the room.

Just as he reached the door, the pounding sounded again. He knew that if it was something with teeth, or claws, or glowing eyes, then he was going to wind up with a lecture from Ripper on his lack of caution. But there was something about that quick, repeated sound that belayed all hesitation. His intuition was telling him that he'd better get that door open right now, damn it, because if he didn't, then he wouldn't want to face the price which would likely be carved out of his hide.

He opened the door, and was knocked backwards into the library again, as the unannounced, uninvited guest almost threw himself into the library, and spun back, slamming the door and throwing his full weight against it, to hold it.

Finally, he looked up, his breath coming in harsh gasps, which broke the cuss words that were streaming from his mouth.

And fell silent, as he saw who it was that had let him in. In spite of the years Ethan was still recognizable as himself -As was Ripper.

There were maybe a few more grey hairs, a few more lines around eyes that he'd once known as well as his own, and in Ethan's case there was a fresh-old scar, but there was nothing that would make any of them unrecognisable.

And to Giles, it felt as though he'd been whacked upside the head. When he'd spoken with Ethan this morning, about the best course of action to take, the last thing that he'd expected, was someone else from his past to come bursting into his life.

Still, it could easily be a trick. He stepped forward, then saw that Ethan was doing exactly what he'd been going to, even as he spoke the new persons name.

"Phillip Henry?" his voice was half question, and half statement, as he tilted Phillip's head up with a gentle, yet firm hand, and looked, unblinking, into his eyes.

Eyghon had never been able to disguise its true nature for long. If this weren't really Phillip, then Ethan would be able to see the eyes shift.

Finally, after a moment that felt as though it had stretched out for a couple years, rather then a minute or so, Ethan let go, and stepped back, nodding.

"It's him."

"Deirdre," he managed to say, and Ethan shared a significant glance with Ripper, that Buffy couldn't help but notice.

And then the door flung open again, throwing Ethan and Phillip clear across the room.

Giles could feel a drifting, dissociated sort of feeling coming down on him, almost like a drug-induced flashback. It was all that he could do to stay standing, as the power that he'd once revelled in reached out, stoking at his magick, and distancing him from the people that he knew he should be protecting.

There, in the open doorway, stood Deirdre Page, her eyes a shining, silted, reptilian yellow, and her body twisted. Her brow came forward, protruding into a heavy ridge, and her skin was becoming pebbled, almost reptilian. As her lips drew back, pulling into a threatening grin, he could see at least two rows of razor sharp teeth, which were pushing her cheeks out, further distorting her face.

But even with all the heavy changes, there were no signs of a permanent death, unlike the corpses that they'd once summoned Eyghon into, before deciding to up the game, and call the demonic spirit into them selves. There was no sign of greying, or bloating, and what was even more important, was that there was no sign of the body starting to wear down.

The most likely possibility was that she had died, and been revived on a hospital table, which would have meant that while the body had effectively been dead, at the moment it still had a heart to drive it, meaning that it wasn't being consumed by the demon's energy.

Ethan untangled himself from Phillip, and started to rise shakily to his feet, looking towards the open door.

"Fuck," he snarled. In a situation like this, Giles was _not_ going to even think about reprimanding him for his language.

The beast wearing the face of another old friend stepped forward, and grinned openly at Giles.

"Hello Ripper," it spoke, it's voice as distorted by its teeth as its face was. The voice was harsh, as though unused to being used, and it echoed of something that was primeval, and powerful, and old. Something that was old when humanity was still in its infancy.

It went to take another step forward, swaying it's head back and forth, as though in an unconscious mimicry of a snake, as was stopped short, and thrown back, as Buffy sent one serious blow into it's solar plexus, and at the same time slamming her hand down on the arm that it- she – had started to extend.

Even from across the other side of the room Ethan could hear far too human bones snapping, like old firewood. The arm, definitely, and quite likely a few ribs as well.

Eyghon rose, in one smooth movement, and gave one last silent snarl, before it drew back, moving into the shadows.

"You can't hide forever. You all belong to me, and I intend to collect my price," were its parting words, as it was quickly lost from sight.

Once Buffy was certain that it was gone, she turned to glare at the three men herself, freezing them all into place as she growled.

"What the hell is going on here? I want to know, and I wanna know now."

"It doesn't matter what's going on," Giles said to her, as he took his glasses off his face, and began rubbing at them with the corner of his sleeve, as he walked towards his office.

He didn't expect it to be Ethan that stopped him, with a hand on his elbow.

"You don't think that she deserves an explanation, Rupert? Or are you going to try and turn your back on this happening, too?"

His voice was hard, and his words far colder, and harsher then he'd intended.

But at least it was enough to give him pause.

H glared at the hand, which had stopped him short.

"I'm not tuning my bloody back. And what gives you any right to talk to me like that?"

"Where shall I start?" Ethan snapped, as Giles shook his arm free. What had just happened had left all of them feeling less then sure of themselves.

And as quickly as it had come over him, Giles's anger had passed, and all that was in his expression, as he looked at Buffy, who was standing on the other side of the room, her arms crossed over her chest, over to Phillip, who hadn't moved from where he'd landed, to Ethan, who was inches from him, was concern.

And he dropped his eyes.

"I'm sorry. Did you want to grab a seat Buffy?" he asked, as he pushed his glasses back on to his nose, and sat himself down, "this could take some time."

Then he looked at Phillip again, "And did you want to help him up and into a chair, Ethan?"

Phillip blinked, clearing his eyes, as he felt Ethan grabbing him under the arm, and helping him to his feet.

"Ethan?" he asked tentatively, "Ethan Rayne?" The second time he said the name, it was more like he was confirming it, to himself, "You. You're the last person that I expected to find. Thought, at first, that it was you, dead -Dead and gone. Just like everyone else seems to be becoming."

As Ethan helped him into a chair, he flicked his eyes up, "And Rupert. Ripper. Knew you, what you were meant to be. Knew you'd help. If I could find you."

Then he doubled forward, burring his head in his arms, and sobbing. It was a bitter, heartbreaking sound that no one wanted to intrude on.

But even as he sobbed, he still spoke," Dee. Had to be Dee. And it…it – she- killed Amber. My Amber. My wife. Would have killed me, too, but I remembered the shield. Wish I didn't, though. I'm not…don't want to be here. Not without anyone…on my own…"

He trailed off, into silence, and again, Buffy looked over at Giles, feeling extremely uneasy.

"You said that this might take a while. So you'd better get talking."

"Before I start, I need to know that you're going to listen, without interruption."

Buffy nodded, "Sure thing."

Giles heaved a sigh, "When I was younger, I attended Oxford University, up until the time I …err…"

"He dropped out," Ethan supplied, with a lot of satisfaction in his voice. As though he were a dog, looking for some treat, he glanced at Giles, who settled for glaring at him.

The he looked back to Buffy, "Yes, as Ethan so nicely puts it, I 'dropped out'. I was twenty-one at the time, and before you ask, no, I'm not going to go into detail about why I did so. Anyway, Ethan and I found our way to London, and met up with a small group of people whom were toying with magick.

"I was rather disillusioned with what was expected of me. Didn't want a thing to do with what my future was meant to be about, I was sick of the Council looking over my shoulder, and I was _not_ getting along with my father. I never had, really, but by this time I felt as though I were well and truly through with him.

"By the time our magick stopped being fun and games, the group consisted of myself, and seven others. Amber Denise, Deirdre Page, Thomas Sutcliff, Phillip here, a young man, Pre-Immortal, named Randall James and of course, Ethan. Magick became a tool, rather then a past time.

"And we, with all the arrogances, and persistence of youth, summoned a demon -One of the ancients, a primeval force, known as the Sleepwalker, Eyghon.

"We were extremely successful, at first. But as we got more used to things, Eyghon began to grow more powerful. And we got relaxed, and complacent. Eventually, we shifted the base power that we used to cast the spell, changing it for something else. But there were several things that we –that I –didn't think, or know, to factor in.

"And things got out of control. Eyghon came through, too powerful -Far too powerful, and we weren't prepared. It took over Randall's mind, and would have twisted his Immortality to its advantage. I was forced to kill him, before the world was made to pay for our stupidity."

Giles had closed his eyes, and rested his head in his hands. He looked tired.

Ethan, standing behind him, rested a hand on his shoulder, offering the sort of comfort that only an old, close friend could. And when he realised that Ripper was through with speaking, he took up the thread of things.

"We thought that that was it. We'd hoped that Eyghon was gone, but it seems that that were only wistful thinking. It must have been simply biding its time. When we were calling on, we had to swear to serve it. And it seems that the Sleepwalker doesn't take too kindly to being betrayed."

Buffy looked at Giles, even as he stared, determinedly, at the palms of his hands, "Giles?" she asked, as he made no move.

She watched, as Ethan lowered his head, and muttered something in his ear, in a low tone of voice. Finally, he broke his repose, looking up, and blinking at Buffy.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Are you going to be okay?"

She was stunned, and a little disillusioned. But the words that Adam had told her last night still rung in her mind, and she couldn't honestly deny them.

_I'm telling you, straight, because I've a feeling that people may surprise you._

And besides that, he was still her Watcher. He was still human. Knowing his past didn't change the person that he was today.

Ethan saw all the emotions that she was feeling, as he glanced towards her. It seemed that once again, Giles wasn't going to answer, "Don't be too hard on him, Buffy. He _is _only human," he said, before answering the question that she'd asked, "He'll be alright. I'll see to that."

She stood, abruptly.

"I really need to main something. I…I guess I'll see you later."

After another ten minutes of dead silence, Giles drew out from Ethan's gentle grasp, and stood, slowly, drawing a few deep breaths.

There was really no choice for it. There was no way that Phillip was in any state to be on his own, and they would surely be a lot safer, if they stayed together.

With a gentle hand on his shoulder, so as not to startle him, and a quick glance towards Ethan, he stirred Phillip.

"Come on, mate. We're going back to mine. You can crash there for the night

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Seconds after sitting down on the couch, Phillip had stretched out, and was asleep.

Giles raised an eyebrow, as he glanced over toward Ethan, who was standing, leaning against the wall of the sitting room, and asked, "Did you want a scotch, or something?"

"You won't catch me saying no."

Giles grabbed the entire bottle, a couple of cups, and headed up stairs, so as not to disturb the sleeping man. Or so he was telling himself.

Ethan followed, only a couple of steps behind him, and settled himself on the floor, as Giles filled the two glasses, and sat himself, cross-legged, just across from Ethan, handed one cup over, and tilted his own glass back, wincing slightly, at the familiar burn.

It felt good to relax a little.

On the way in Ethan had cast a few wards, so that they would be safe for the night.

There was a whole bottle of scotch between the two of them, and the couch was already occupied. There were only two possible ways that tonight could really end. Either they would get through the entire bottle, and not care about the fact that they were both going to coma out on the carpet.

Or they wouldn't.

Only time would tell.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Buffy came forward, launching a solid kick at the chest of the newborn vampire that had just dragged it's self out of the earth before her.

Originally she had attributed her increased awareness of a vampire's proximity to the number of them that she had been around, but now that she thought about it, she would have to admit that her accuracy had improved after her fight with the Master. After she had been killed for the first time. So, maybe it wasn't so much about the time she'd put in, as it was a latent side effect of being able to sense a whole other type of person.

She grinned as the vampire flew backwards, through the air, and crashed, heavily, into a nearby bush. Heavily enough that, as it went to rise and renew its attack seconds later, the only thing that came at her were several dust particles. When it went down, a half-snapped branch had gone up, into its back, and straight through its heart.

A flare of disappointment, brief, yet sharp. She'd really been spoiling to cause that one pain.

Giles.

Her mother.

Her father, who she'd thought was Hank. When had Hank come in to things, anyway?

Was no one who she'd thought they were?

Was everyone keeping secrets?

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The bottle of scotch was only half-gone when Giles put it down, finality echoing in his actions.

"I do need some sleep, if I'm to be of any use to anyone at all tomorrow," he muttered, as he lay down, fully clothed, under the covers.

Ethan stretched out on the floor, moving, so that he was resting over the warm patch of floor that Rupert had left behind.

"Mind tossing us a pillow down, Ripper?" he asked, not willing to voice anything further, least he wind up having to sleep out in the hallway, or half-way up the stairs.

Instead, Rupert glanced at him, before throwing up the covers with one hand, and rolling over, on to his side, turning his back to Ethan, "Don't be stupid," he sighed, as he shut his eyes, "You mind getting the light, too?"

Ethan stood, and flicked the light off, before standing at the side of the bed, in silence, thinking.

Rupert glared at him. Ethan could see the flash of those green eyes, even in the darkness.

"Bloody hell, Ethan. Make your damn mind up."

He laid himself down in the left side of the bed, and Rupert rested his head back down, again.

There was a part of him that did desperately want to push it. But he didn't want Rupert to feel uncomfortable. He didn't want to give him reason to think that he'd made the wrong choice. Didn't want to provide an excuse for him to take the easy way out.

It had only been last night that Rupert had said that he still loved him, but he knew how he would feel, were he in Rupert's sensible shoes. He'd be uncertain, and hesitant, and questioning himself.

He rolled over, onto his own side; so that his back was to Rupert, and he felt the stiffness with which the other had been holding him self slip away.

Maybe, tonight, with the wards that he'd cast then he would actually be able to get a decent sleep tonight.

"'Night, Ripper," he spoke softly.

"Good night, Ethan."


	26. Chapter 25:Some Of The Big Questions

**Chapter 25**

**Some Of The Big Questions**

It was one of the scariest things that she had ever seen.

Today, much to her delight, she had found out, the hard way, that it was mystery meat day, in the cafeteria, and of course she hadn't brought anything else along. Frowning, Buffy looked at the gloop, waiting for her, with only the occasional bubble, as though trying to convince her that it wasn't actually dead.

Well, they _were_ on a Hellmouth, here. For all she knew…

Quickly she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. That was the last thing she should be thinking about, considering the fact that she was actually going to try to stomach the stuff.

Again, she eyed it, not sure if she was trying to talk herself in to, or out of her lunch.

_Well, at least I __know__ it won't kill me. Whether that's going to be a good thing, or a bad thing, however, remains to be seen._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

He was cutting through a short back-alley, when Eyghon/Deirdre decided that it was time to try again.

Ethan had once been asked by someone that he'd once thought a friend, if he'd learned nothing from the screw-ups that he'd made, and he'd replied that he'd learned how to be careful, and watch his back.

But here he was, disproving his own words by going down a tiny, deserted alley, on the mouth of Hell, when he knew for a fact that a rather strong demon was looking to rip his heart out of his chest. And he wasn't sure that this whole Immortality gig would stand up to having internal organs turned into confetti. He didn't know for a fact that hearts regenerated, and it was something that he would rather not have had to find out.

As it lunged for him, showing no regard what-so-ever for the fact that it was broad daylight, he hit it with everything that he could, without draining himself to the point of collapse.

For all of his efforts, he got away with several deep scratches, which would be healed in seconds, a rather bad, although equally temporary nosebleed, and one hell of a sharp headache.

But if was worth all of that, to see Eyghon slinking away again.

It was a little after eleven when he walked in, to find Phillip sitting at an empty table, and Rupert over in his office. He walked over and let himself in, and sat down in front of Giles's desk, with a tiny smile on his face.

Rupert looked up, and returned the expression, as he spoke, "I was beginning to wonder when you'd show."

Not _if,_ but _when_. That was something that there was no way that Ethan was going to miss.

He wanted to say something that was equally as meaningful, such as _told you I'd be here_, but he couldn't, because he hadn't. Hadn't been planning on showing, at all really.

So instead, he settled for nodding, "You know I _always_ show up again, my old friend."

There was a new light, dancing in Rupert's cool green eyes; one that he was sure hadn't been there when he'd looked yesterday. Or maybe it wasn't new; maybe he simply hadn't noticed it before.

"Yes, even when it's not convenient," Giles gave him a tiny, wan smile.

"I had a fresh run-in with Deirdre, a few minutes ago."

He didn't say that this was the reason that he was here later then Rupert would have expected him, but he didn't say that it wasn't, either. And just to make an emphasis, he held out his arm, to show off the ragged, blood-touched tears in the shirt. Such a thing would have had far more meaning, however, if he'd actually still been bleeding –That was just another one of the downsides of being an Immortal. Even being willing to risk fatal wounds didn't have as much impact as it normally would.

It sounded far less effective, to say 'look, I was willing to be reborn for you again.'

"I think I may have come to a solution for that. And for the most part, it's a reasonably simple one, too. It's only the final section of the operation, that will provide us with any grief."

For a few seconds he wrestled with the urge to show how glad he was to hear those words. But he knew how Rupert, in the past would have reacted.

For a few seconds he was in another time, and another place.

_Ripper looked even better then usual these days, with his light almost-blond hair grown out and down to his shoulders, and his black leather jacked thrown around his broad shoulders. And another things that changes his entire faces, is the open joy that he is feeling._

_One look into those deep green eyes, and Ethan can see what freedom from all of the pressures, and responsibility, has done for him._

_When he smiles, or laughs, he actually means it. And he no longer breaks down in front of Ethan, driven to tears by the fear of failing at his duty. In one night, it was as thought he'd gone from being twenty-one, to being a teenager again._

_But he still had rules, and limits, that frustrated Ethan. Trying to go around them is like banging his head against a brick wall._

_And the one that gets to Ethan the most is his rule of "No, not __ever__ in public."_

_He'd tried a hundred times, and been pushed away over that. Ripper's pride will not allow him to show open affection -Especially not with another man._

"So, what do we do, Rupert?"

"I came up with the idea when I was speaking with Buffy this morning. It's the mark that ties Eyghon to us, calls it, and anchors it. If we remove the mark from the scenario, then there will be nothing to keep it here, and then all we have to do, is take out De…the host that it is using right now."

Ethan looked at him; processing what he was saying, "Hang on, Ripper. You're saying that we have to kill another friend? She may not even be dead inside her head, and you're suggesting that we kill her? And are you forgetting that I'm Immortal? I can't exactly go to a laser specialist, and say that I'd like the tattoo gone. It doesn't work."

"I was thinking more along the lines of magick, than a laser specialist. And as for Deirdre, you know that we're talking about what is regarded as long-term possession. Even if her mind isn't dead, then she'll never be the same again. It will have driven her mad, Ethan. You know just as well as I, that she would never have wanted to live under those circumstances."

"How many years ago was that, when you last had that conversation with her?"

Giles looked at him. What he was saying was true, but Giles knew that his own words were equally correct. There was only one way, and only one chance of dealing with this, and while it was true that they'd all lost a lot of friends, then it would be worth it to assure the safety of those that remained.

Rupert's willingness to do whatever had to be done, whether he was working for the Council, or against them, had always been an issue of contention between the two of them.

He decided that the best thing to do would be to ignore the cutting comment. Ethan had always had that ability, to hit hard with words when he was feeling insecure, or upset about something.

Ethan blinked back a tear. He hated the thought of loosing Deirdre. But he knew that if there were any other way then Rupert would have suggested it. But there was still one issue.

"And tell me this, Rupert," he said, struggling to keep his voice even, and from breaking, "Who would you have, who would you ask, to kill another friend?"

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Joyce paced through her silent home, thinking about how much everything had changed.

It was only a short while ago that she would have enjoyed the silence, but now it actively preyed on her mind, making her think of her daughter, who was somewhere out there, rather then at home, safe. At the moment, it may only be at school, but tonight it wouldn't be.

Tonight, she would be risking her life -And the next night, and the one after that.

And every night before now she had been doing the same thing, too. The only difference was that now Joyce knew about it.

And while that may not have actually_ been_ that much of a difference, it _made_ all the difference in the world, at least as far as she was concerned.

She wanted to pack up, and move out of the town, and it's endless dangers, take Buffy and run away, until she knew that she would be able to protect her daughter again.

She supposed that it was the same as every mother's instinct.

Finally, she stopped herself from pacing, again, and decided to wash up the dishes from dinner last night. It wasn't as though wearing marks in the floor was going to make a difference, and at least, then, she would be doing something productive.

She wasn't as surprised as she would have been a few days ago, when a knock sounded on the door only seconds after she'd after she'd started to fill the sink. It seemed that all of the surprises she'd endured over the last few days had started to prepare her for future surprises, and unexpected happenings.

She cut across the room, telling herself that, no matter whom it was she was going to be annoyed, as she didn't particularly feel like company, and unlocked the front door. Then she took a step back, and crossed her arms over her chest, when she found Adam on her front step.

"Good afternoon," he said, smoothly, as he gave her a tiny half-smile, that she remembered with fond affection.

And just like that, she forgot what she had been telling herself only seconds ago. She may have told herself that she was better off not trusting him, and that she didn't want anyone around at the moment, and that letting him back into her life would only ever end with pain, but damned if she didn't want someone that could lean on, at the moment.

And even though Adam had, in some ways, had to play at a small deception when she had been with him, he had, in his own way, always been there. He _had_ been reliable, even if he had done the less important things in his own time. Sometimes, she had thought that it had seemed as though time hadn't held the same meaning for him, as it had for the people around him.

And only now, did she actually realise how right she had been in that assessment.

If they had been running late for a party, with her friends, or a dinner date, or anything g along those lines, he had always brushed it off, laughing.

For a few seconds, she could hear his voice in her mind, as though he'd said the words to her only yesterday.

_Come on, honey, relax. What difference dose a few minutes here, a quarter-or half hour there really make? Other then the fact that we may well enjoy the time beforehand all the more, that is._

While, the other night, he actually hadn't said outright, how old he actually was, she got the feeling that it certainly was old enough that a few minutes, or even a couple of hours, or maybe even years _really_ wouldn't make all that much of a difference.

"I need to talk to you," he spoke, breaking her from her reminiscing.

She blinked, and shook her head, trying to clear he head, so that she might be able to stay on her toes while dealing with the man that she had never stopped loving.

She had only married Hank Belmont so that Buffy might grow up knowing someone as a father figure, even if he wasn't her actual father.

And, even though, she had grown to care for Hank, in her own way, nothing had been able to replace the love, and sorrow that she'd felt towards Adam, who she had been absolutely certain that she would never see again. After all, in this day and age, of logic, and science, who really expected the dead to walk again?

Then, when she had left Hank, because she couldn't handle living with someone else any longer, she had taken her maiden name once again. And, since Buffy had been born just before she had married him, her daughter had always had her mother's maiden name. It just kept things easier, that way.

"Um, come in," she said, feeling a little flustered, as she stood back, and away from the door. The expression on his usually passive face told her that this was something best discussed in the privacy of her own home, rather then out on the street.

As soon as she had closed the door behind them, he placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her towards him, so that they were face to face.

"Tell me, Joyce. To what lengths would you be willing to go, to help Buffy, and stand beside her?"

"What kind of a question is that?" she asked –almost snapped, feeling very much wrong footed.

"Just tell me, right now, no thought behind it. I'll explain why shortly."

"I'm her mother. I'd do anything for her. If I had to, then I'd die for her."

Methos nodded. He had expected nothing less from her. If this spell that Ethan was determined to tackle would work, then not only would it provide Immortality to the mortal, but it would also tie all of the participants to one another, although it some cases, such as with the situation between himself an his student, to a lesser extent, and in others, between himself, Joyce and Buffy, to a rather more serious extent.

And what was more was that it would provide his daughter with a little more of the power that she just might need to keep her head. It would man, that afterwards, Joyce would instantly fall under his protection, but that would be easily enough taken care of. He hadn't lived for as long as he had, without having made one or more of his homes on holy ground.

"I'm not suggesting that you die for her. In fact, potentially, quite the opposite."

She looked at him, unsure of what to say. But, fortunately, she was saved the trouble, as he continued.

"I have a young friend, who is quite determined to try something, a spell, and, truth be said, it could be a lot worse. It is easier, nod, looking at the positives, more than worth the risk, to allow it, rather then discourage it. And, it could help yourself, and Buffy. It would, if it works, and I stress the '_if'_ factor, share some of your, and my own strength, with her, and a fraction of her with you and I. It _would_ tie the three of us, also."

She swallowed, and she knew that Adam would be able to see the gesture. This… _this_ was _huge_. In all of her life, she had never imagined anything like this.

It had been only days ago, when she had found out about Immortals, and Vampires, and Slayers. It had been such a short time, since she had discovered that, by all rights, her daughter shouldn't actually exist, having been fathered by an Immortal, which alone should have been impossible.

She had just told Adam that she was willing to do anything for Buffy. And she could only imagine that he was feeling that same way, since he was even chancing to ask her such a thing. But, still…it all came back to how big this was.

"I need to think about it."

"Of course you do. Tell me, what do you need to know about it?"

"I…I honestly don't know."

He looked at her, thinking overheat the best thing to do now was. He'd done his piece, and now, just like he'd told Ethan earlier, it was out of his hands.

"You have my phone-number?"

Space would be the best thing for her, he decided.

"Yes. You know that I do."

He nodded, once, sharp and decisive, "Well, call me. If you need to know anything or, if you decide either way."

"I will."

He turned, and let himself back out.


	27. Chapter 26:A Matter of Timing Part I

**Chapter 26**

**A Matter of Timing Part I**

He'd never felt quite this nervous around Rupert before. He'd spent the entire day in the library, pretending to read a book, and making about as much conversation as Phillip, who still hadn't graduated from staring into space. All that he could do was keep turning the possibilities over in his mind. He could see it now; Rupert would either umm, and ahh, and oh-so-politely tell him that he didn't want forever, or he would tell him outright, that he was out of his mind.

And, as for getting rid of the mark…well, he wasn't sure that Phillip was up for rational conversation, let alone a spot of magick –especially when he had stated quite clearly, last night, that he would rather be counted among the dead, than left behind to help clean up the mess afterwards.

But still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

For what he was sure wasn't going to be the final time that day, Giles looked up, and over towards Ethan.

And it wasn't the first time for him to ask, either, in a tone that admittedly was a little snippy, because he was honestly beginning to feel as though he didn't have a clue how Ethan's mind worked, these days, "When are you going to tell me what the hell is up with you today?"

Okay, so he was possibly more than a little snippy. But he had ample reason. Ethan had gained exactly what he'd been after. And now, he was acting like a bird that had been knocked up, who was trying to pretend that there wasn't a problem in the world.

This time, he saw the resolve on Ethan's face.

Finally, he was going to get some answers.

"Ripper, what do…?" He started, and the trailed off. He had been planning on saying _what do you think of, about eternity?_ But now, he didn't think that that was the best way in which he should be going around things.

He took a deep breath, and started again.

"You know that…that I love you?"

Even after last night, even after Rupert had said what he'd said the other day, it wasn't exactly easy to say. He had never been one for heart-felt confessions, but it did, however, fell like there was no better time than now.

The way that he'd been raised, by the people that he'd thought of as his parents (Gods, what a joke that was) he'd been taught early on that even if you did care for someone, or something, that it was better not to say it –Because the moment that you did admit it, it would be ripped away from you.

"Yes?" Giles quirked his eyebrow, and Ethan gave his quick, sardonic grin, which Giles had always recognized as his way of saying, without words, _it'll be fine, _without making things too…sappy, he supposed.

"I don't want to lose you, Rupert."

"What on earth makes you think that you're going to lose me? What gives you such a damned foolish idea?"

Ethan rose, to stand before him, and unconsciously, Giles found the he was reaching forward, to cup a hand behind Ethan's neck. He tried to ignore the way that his old friend, old lover, stiffened at the gesture, which was one that he hadn't offered in what was probably close to a couple of decades.

"What gives me such an idea? Because, as long as we're like this, then I _will_ lose you, and it may not be today, or tomorrow, or next year, or even ay time this decade, but it will happen –Because of _what_ I am. And how long will it be, until you start to look at me, and… resent what I have?"

He could understand exactly where Ethan was coming from, but there was little that he could say that he felt would actually assuage his fears. So instead, he settled for a practical answer, one that, at least, wouldn't do any damage, even if it wouldn't do any good, either.

"We can always take tomorrow as it comes."

"I don't want to. I don't like having to cross my bloody fingers, and hope that everything turns out for the best. And…" he trailed off again, looking away from Rupert's steady, unflinching, gaze.

"And -And what, Ethan?"

"Well…" he paused, for a heartbeat, and then carried on, "there's a chance that it won't have to come down to that. There's a chance that you could, potentially, have just as long as me?"

"What do you mean?" Giles asked, almost hesitantly. He was sure that he wasn't…because there was no way that his father would have stopped short of disowning him when he'd went off the rail, if he wasn't his own flesh and blood. Truth said, even with that, he was surprised that he'd been allowed to keep the family name.

If he'd thought things had gotten hard after his father had found out that his only son had taken a boyfriend…well, that had been a walk in the park compared to what he'd been through after he'd discovered that he'd been party to summoning one of the primeval demons.

He wasn't surprised that Ethan could still read him correctly.

"No, you're not. But a friend of mine…he's turned up a spell –A very old rite. And if it does what it's meant to, then it could grant you your own Immortality."

"You're serious, aren't you? And…this spell…this friend of yours…are you sure that you can trust him? Did you actually see this spell yourself, or?"

The fact that Rupert was looking further in to it, was giving him hope. And he knew from experience, that hope was a dangerous thing. But, he started now, and there was no taking his words back, not without the ability to reverse time…although, if he did attempt a spell of that magnitude, it wasn't like it could actually kill him -Even though it may very well make his brain leak out of his ears.

"My teacher trusts him. And as for the spell its self, well, he says that he's seen it done, and I read it in a book that would look quite at home in your collection. It seemed to be a pretty solid thing, chum. And, the thought, of knowing you again, then, well, you know. I'm not sure that I could handle something like that."

He was even more surprised then he was by the light touch, when, with no noticeable hesitation, Giles tugged him into his chest, and simply held him. _He _had been so focused on trying to say his part that he hadn't even noticed that he was shivering almost uncontrollably.

"And if I did this, then it would prove to you that I'm serious, about wanting to give us another chance? It would make it possible for you to settle down, ease _your_ mind? It's what you need?"

"Yes," he said, into Rupert's shirt.

Rupert shifted, pushing him back a little, and Ethan felt a tiny flair of disappointment. He tried to tell himself that it didn't matter that Rupert was pushing away now, because it seemed like he was getting everything else that he wanted. It was petty, to worry about something as tiny as this.

But then, Rupert lowered his head slightly, and brushed his lip against his, and there was nothing else that needed to be said.

Without words, and in his own way, Rupert was saying that he would do it.

For a few seconds, he made as though to draw back, but Ethan quickly took over, deepening the kiss, turning it into something that was impossible not to enjoy.

Even in spite of the fact that this though, was an open, public venue.

_Oh, by the Dear Gods._ _Public –couldn't be any more so –_Never in public, at least not before this.

And, seconds later, a tiny part of him heard the sound of the library door swinging, and Rupert pulled away, sharply, spinning around to see who it was.

"Buffy," the Watcher spoke her name hesitantly.

All that she could do was stare at him.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

If it were something that Buffy needed, in order to have a chance at survival, then she would do it.

There was no way that she could deny her daughter anything, least of all a chance at a future.

Adam had presented things, last night, as a choice, but it wasn't, not really. It wasn't the type of person that she was, to not protect her only daughter.

She grabbed the phone, and punched in the number that she had been given the other night.

A young-sounding, pleasant, male voice answered the phone.

"Speaking?"

"This is Joyce Summers. Can you please put Adam on the line?"

"Sure thing. Not a prob."

She heard sounds, as of the phone being put down, a muffled voice calling out, and then more thumps and bumps.

"Joyce?" Adam asked, as he picked the phone.

"Adam, I've been thinking."

"Yes?"

His voice was low, and gentle, and that gave her what she needed, to carry on.

"I'll do it."

Even though she couldn't see him, he still nodded, yet he still asked, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I'll be over in a few hours, to talk about it a little more with you. We go for it tomorrow night."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Seconds after Joyce had hung the phone up, it rung again, courtesy of Ethan.

After a hurried conversation, he turned to Richie, and gave him a rather grim smile.

"Well, kid. It looks like we go for it."

Richie turned, and looked at Methos for a heartbeat, before glancing away, and, not for the first time, he found himself wondering about the young mans edginess.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Buffy couldn't look away from what she had just walked in on. When she had asked Giles this morning, about the evidence that he was presenting, from last night, she had imagined that it would be the result of a night that had been spent with Jenny. But that was quite clearly not the case.

She had done her best to ignore the way that Giles and Ethan had interacted with one another, last night, what with the light banter, in spite of the serious subject, and the way they seemed so comfortable with one another. And, it hadn't only been last night, but really, since the other Brit had shown up in town, in the first place.

She had seen a side of her Watcher that she hadn't seen before –A more light-hearted, carefree man, in spite of the pressure that was on his shoulders.

"Giles?" she asked, in a small voice, "you, and…I mean…well…"

She trailed off, lapsing into silence. Just because she could, in a way, understand, it didn't mean that she had to sympathise. Or even, in any way, like it.

"Well, well, well," Ethan said, as he turned, to look back towards the Immortal Slayer, "It appears, Ripper, dear, that no matter how far you try to push the cat down into the bag, it always seems to claw it's way back up."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

As soon as Methos had left the house, Richie mad his own way out, and down into the sewers.

He _always_ hated coming underground, because when he did, he was giving a rather vital advantage to creatures that could so easily turn on him. But, every time he began to wonder if he was doing the right thing, began to question whether the beasts would stay true to their word, he remembered his own betrayal, at the hands of the man that he had once considered a father to him. It would be worth it, to not have to remember the pain, and the fear that he lived with every day that he knew Duncan MacLeod knew where he was.

A tiny part of him wanted to be able to trust again, but his past was too jaded, too filled with pain, for him to ever be comfortable again.

The sound of claws, on the hard concrete, right behind him, only seconds away, quickly snapped him out of his thought, and he spun instantly drawing his sword.

It wasn't only his allies that made used of this dark warren.

The beast that was behind him drew back a little ways, crossing under a patch of light that shone through a distant grate.

Kali-taron looked up, towards the young Immortal standing before him.

~*_What brings you to our domain, child? _*~

"The spell. It's being done it tomorrow night."

_~*You have done well, to bring things this far. I thank you._ *~

"Yeah. Well, you just make sure that I get my part of the bargain."

~*_Of course -I wouldn't dream of betraying you. Your alliance is invaluable. _*~

All that Richie did, in reply, was frown. Over the years he'd learnt a thing or two about invaluable alliances. They only worked up until the point where they got in the way.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"Well, now that you're here, you may as well lend a hand."

Giles' tone of voice left no room for either argument, or conversation, about what Buffy had seen. And that was just the way he wanted it. Because the last thing that he needed was to be having _that_ conversation with a teenager, no matter how much he may respect her.

But still, she _had_ to try him, just like any child might. And it was the little things, like that, that reminded him just how young she really was, in spite of everything that she had been through, and the fact the she could and had, successfully stopped the apocalypse.

"How the hell did we get from you kissing Ethan, which, by the way, big _eww_ there, to me helping you? And helping with what, anyway?"

He couldn't help himself. He'd never been able to help himself, not around any of his teachers at Oxford, nor any of the stuck up Prefects, or even around his own father.

"Whom I chose to snog is entirely my own business. It is not for you to want or worry at. Now, drop it."

She looked scandalised, at his words, as Ethan crossed the tiny space of floor, and stirred Phillip, "Come on, mate –Just what Rupert and I were talking about. Need to get rid of this damn tat. Maybe get a nice sword where it used to be, after."

"Get rid of the mark…Yeah."

_Well, at least it's better than the monosyllabic replies that have been persisting since he showed up._

Meanwhile, Giles lead Buffy into his office, and, as soon as the door was closed behind her, he looked at her pointedly, as though daring her to speak up again.

Instead, she bit back what she had originally been planning on saying, "So, what exactly are you wanting to do? And what did you want _me _to do?"

"Ethan, Phillip, and I are going to do a spell, to remove the mark of the Sleepwalker. And, at the moment I need you to crush these for me."

As he spoke, he pulled several things out of his draw, and handed a bag of some solid-looking odd-smelling grey stuff to her.

She pulled it out, and started to roll it over between her hands, slowly grinding it to a fine dust.

"What is this, by the way?"

"It would probably for the better, if you didn't know."

"Uh-huh. That sort of stuff."

As she crushed it, and Giles began to sort out a few rather rough-seeming amounts, he looked at her again.

"So, not that I'm complaining, but where are the rest of your friends?"

"Cordelia was stricken by a major fashion emergency –broke a nail while opening the top of a can of drink –Willow got dragged off to do the whole 'quality time' thing with her dad, and Xander…well, I think he said something about going to spend some time at the comic store this afternoon."

He nodded, "Do you mind going and grabbing my copy of "Pandora's Dark Visage" from the shelves that are down the back? There's something that I want to check."

It was, she found, a whole lot easier to be doing something, rather than simply dwelling on the whole, creepy Giles and Ethan relationship that seemed to be developing.

Buffy spent some ten minutes looking, before she found the book, surprisingly enough, right where it was supposed to be.

"Here you go," she said, as she put it down in front of him, sneezing a couple of times as dust was stirred into the air. It was quite clearly not one of the more often referenced volumes in here.

"Thank-you Buffy," he said, distractedly, as he grabbed the book and began to leaf through the old, yellowed pages.

She slipped out of the office, took one look at Ethan, and then sunk into a seat beside to which Phillip had moved. It was highly unusual the way he seemed to slide from place to place, almost as though he was moving via osmosis.

_Osmosis. Take that, Mr Bunk, saying I don't pay enough attention in science,_ she though, with a hint of satisfaction.

One moment he was here, and the next he was there, with seemingly no transitory movement what so ever.

After a further twenty minutes of sitting around doing nothing, she decided to run through a few katas to starve off the boredom. She stood and settled herself into a position, light on the balls of her feet, and began a slow warm-up.

For a few moments, Ethan found himself staring. It was hard not to admire the fluid grace with which she posed herself and moved. He could so easily see Rupert's training in that, as well as a tiny, miniscule hint of Methos'. But while she moved far more smoothly than a lot of untrained humans would, she definitely had a few rough edges. But then again, she was still very young, so she had plenty of time _to_ learn how grace could be balanced perfectly against skill.

Look at him –he'd spent three years under Methos' wing already, and he still didn't know one thousandth of what the ancient knew.

Probably never would, when it came down to it.

Finally Giles came out, and gave him a nod, as he spread a large white sheet onto the floor –the one which he had acquired for this sort of purpose alone, and took a couple of steps back, gesturing for the Mage to do his thing.

Buffy stopped her deadly dance, and stood to watch. She tended to have a love/intense dislike relationship with magick. It was, as far as she was concerned, unpredictable, and more trouble than it was worth. A skilful person could, and on occasion, would, do anything with magick. At least with demons, and vampires, she could see them, and even if she didn't know for certain, she could usually pretty well figure out what their weaknesses were. With magick, however, nine time out of ten, the only truly effective counter was another spell. And she couldn't cast a spell to save herself.

Ethan made a circle of salt, which was stained a dark brown that really didn't bare thinking about, and began to slowly move around the circle, pausing at interval's to trace strange symbols onto the mate, and speak in a rough, guttural language that she couldn't even begin to guess at. When he'd finished once, he began to circle a second time, and stopped short at one place that didn't hold any real significance for Buffy.

Giles stepped into the circle, drawing Phillip in with him, and placed the things that he'd sorted out into the centre of the circle, and sprinkled the light dust that Buffy had ground, over it.

In one smooth movement, Ethan tugged his coat off, and threw it out of the circle, drawing his sword out of the sheath and cutting his hand as deeply as he could while still leaving everything attached. Then, in the few seconds before it healed, he held his hand over the centre, and allowed the few free drops to fall, and offered the sword clockwise to Rupert.

He was a lot more careful then his friend, as he repeated the same action and held the hand over the stuff, and then grasped Phillips hand, drawing the sword lightly across his palm, too.

Ethan closed his eyes and started up a chant, as he grasped Rupert's hand to one side, and Phillips to the other.

Even in spite of Buffy's null and void magick sense, she could still feel something stirring, as Giles took up the chant seconds later.

And then, ten seconds after that, the door crashed inwards to reveal Eyghon, in all its twisted glory.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

He didn't think.

Usually, it was the last action that he would take, but he couldn't let things stand.

As Buffy drew her sword, in order to defend the circle Ethan tore his hands out of his friends' grasps, and grabbed his sword from where it was sitting in the centre of the circle, and stepped over the line.

The magickal backlash threw Rupert and Phillip back against the wall. The pain that tore through Ethan's head was almost enough to bring him to his knees.

It wasn't however, the first time that he'd had to work through such pain, and, he knew it would pass in a few minutes time at the most.

Knew it, just as well as he knew that he couldn't let Buffy do this; take care of his mistake. Tidy up his mess; repair the damage that he'd done.

It was the least, and only thing that he could do for her –Because everything that had happened that involved Eyghon was his fault, and his alone. It had been him who had found the original ritual to summon the demon, and he who had insisted on doing the spell for the first time.

Randall's death; Amber's death; Deirdre's temporary death, and subsequent possession –The blood of all of those people were on his hands, and his alone. He may not have killed them himself, but he had done as good as.

He spun his sword almost casually over in his hand, and narrowed his eyes. As the beast wearing his friend's body lunged at him, he stepped forward to meet it, and struck out, with a single, perfectly aimed, sweeping blow, which severed the head from the body.

The head hit the ground seconds before the body did, and melted into a pile of viscous-looking goo. Seconds later the body followed suit.

Ethan dropped his sword, not caring about the way it hit the ground, and collapsed to his knees, sobbing –Bitter, breathless tears.

Giles rose shakily to his feet, and crossed the room, to put a hand on Ethan's shoulder.

He shrugged it off, and snarled, and a cold, cutting, angry tone, "Don't you fucking touch me; I don't deserve it, and I know it."

Instead of drawing back, however, he dropped to his own knees and put his arms around Ethan's shoulders, holding him tightly. He didn't give a fuck about what Buffy was seeing, and thinking. All that mattered for him was helping Ethan pull through this moment.

Phillip sat up, groaning and rubbing at the back of head. He had been a successful businessman, before the dead had started to stalk him. So why, then, was he waking up feeling like he was seeing the wrong side of the morning through a pair of bourbon-tinted specs?

Frowning, he looked down at his shoulder where his own mark had been. At least they had gotten far enough through the spell that most of it was gone. Otherwise it wouldn't have been him waking up in his own body at all.

Giles leaned forward, and spoke, in a soft voice into Ethan's ear, "I don't care what you think you do, or do not deserve. It's not your fault; none of it is. I've told you before, and I'll gladly tell you again. You need to stop blaming yourself for circumstances that were outside of your control."

"But…" he said.

Giles cut him sharply off, as he rested a hand against the back of his neck, cupping his hand in the same gesture that he'd made earlier on that afternoon.

"You know as well as I, that you can't chase the past away, in spite of your best efforts. All that you can do; all that I can do, is live with it –Because it'll always come back to bite you in the arse –It doesn't matter whom it was, or what it was. Those ghosts, those people that linger in the realms of your memory aren't going anywhere; they're never going to leave. They will always be there, and when you least expect it, they will come back. And each time that they do, the memories will freshen, and get stronger. But none of this means that you need to blame yourself. If anything, it's me that you should hate –after all, it was I who suggested that we needed to change the base of the spell. If it hadn't been for my over-caution…"

"Don't be stupid, Rupert. It's crazy, to think that I could ever hate you…"

"Then maybe you can see how crazy it is, to claim the blame for all of it."

As Buffy stood, watching, she felt more and more uneasy. She was feeling as though she were intruding on something that was ultimately meant to be private –Something that was as close as was possible to get, to intimate, without doing anything else.

As quietly as possible, she grabbed her things, turned, and slipped out of the library.


	28. Chapter 27:A Matter of Timing Part II

**Chapter 27**

**A Matter of Timing Part II**

**It Starts…**

**18:30 –Jenny's Apartment.**

Slowly, Jenny moved around the circle –To the left for a couple of steps, and then pausing to light a candle, then to the right, and repeating the same action. In this manner she proceeded around the circle, until there were only three left, unlit. These, she stepped over, moving into the centre of the circle.

**18:32 –The Cavern Under the Sewers**

Kal-mudi slowly moved towards where the female laid, her stomach writhing unnaturally. His original distaste for his task had been removed with a savage blow that had laid the muscle open to reveal the bone underneath. That 'gift' had also been given to him by Kali-taron, in return for his questioning of his leaders orders.

**18:32 –Richie's Home**

Richie nodded at Methos, as he headed out the door.

"Good luck, old man."

Methos frowned at him "Aren't you coming along, as well?"

"Na. I think I'll pass. But thanks for the offer, anyways."

Because he knew what would be going down.

**18:33 –The Summers' Household**

Buffy looked at Joyce, blankly, for a few seconds.

"Are you sure that you wanna do this, mom?"

She couldn't believe her own ears. But then again, her mom had always had a way of surprising her. That she would be willing to risk the loneliness of what could possibly be eternity, however, was beyond all belief.

But at least it meant that she wouldn't have to worry about her, any more.

"Yes, Buffy. I'm sure, so don't even think about trying to talk me out of it."

"I wasn't going to."

"Oh. Well." Her mom sounded a little taken aback at that, as though she had been prepared to argue the point.

**18:34 Giles' Apartment**

For the forth time, Giles began to go over the equipment that he'd been told that he should bring along.

What with double, triple, and quadruple-checking everything, he was making certain that nothing was being left up to chance. If anything went wrong, it wouldn't be because of human error –that much was assured.

Phillip swallowed a couple of aspirin, and sat down on the couch, closing his eyes. After being thrown head over heels when Ethan had broken the circle last night, he'd had an annoying, persistent headache.

And Ethan was simply sitting on a chair at the kitchen bench. A stone-cold cup of tea sat in front of his hand. Half-distractedly, he reached out, and grabbed the cup, taking a sip from it, before he pulled a face and spat it back out.

**18:35 Sunnydale Airport**

There was no one that mattered around to see it, when the 747 touched down at the Sunnydale airport, and a dark shadow crept out from the luggage hold.

The only people that did see didn't matter, and they were knocked out seconds later.

**18:36 The High School**

Duncan hoped that the phone-call that he'd received from Richie, telling him that he would meet him outside the library at seven o'clock, would be the young man ready to tell him that he wanted to give their friendship another try.

But, just in case it wasn't, just in case he would have to meet the young man whom had been like a son to him, in combat, again, he arrived a little early in order to give himself a little time to prepare.

Even though, to face the young man again was the last thing that he ever wanted to have to do.

It had devastated him, to cut down his own old student. It had broken his heat, to think the young man dead.

If he had to do it again, then he wasn't certain that he would be able to live with himself. The boy was his last surviving link to a far happier time, and no matter what it took, he would do everything within his power to avoid the possible challenge.

Even though he had never run from a fight, then if it came down to turning away, and never seeing the boy again, and simply being satisfied with knowing that he was alive and well, then that was what he would do.

But he hoped, with all his heart, that it wouldn't come to that.

**18:40 –Jenny's Apartment**

Once inside the circle, she had lit the last three candles.

Now, she spoke in a voice that rung with the power and confidence of a practised caster.

"To the old gods, to the masters of power, I call out. To the strength of the north, I bow."

She inclined her body in the direction, and then turned around.

"To the stability and strength of the south, I stand and salute.

Again, performing the action.

"To the guardians, and masters, of the north and west, I offer my respect and obedience. To the old Gods, I show all reverence and honour."

**18:40 –Cavern Under The Sewers**

The only clue that the female still lived was the barely perceptible glint, in the far back of her eyes. Not even with the closest scrutiny, could one still make out the rise and fall of her chest, or the throb of her pulse, in her throat.

Between the time that the two cubs emerged into the world, and the time that the female would linger for, no more than seven hours could be allowed to pass. If, by the time that had passed, the energy from the spell that was Kali-Taron had foreseen hadn't been diverted to the cubs, and brought back to the female, then their chance would be lost.

It had to be the as-yet-unborn, that the pure Quickening energy was transferred to, because only those that were remotely innocent could act as vessels for it without having it tear them apart.

Kal-mudi raised its claws towards the female's stomach, and touched against the shifting flesh, lightly.

He knew that her death-throws would kill him. That was why this was his 'reward' for disobedience.

That was why he'd risked himself even further, by questioning their leader.

**18:45 Richie's House**

It was already quarter to seven, and as of yet, he'd made no move towards the door. No move to meet up with Duncan at the High School, where he had sent his old teacher to await his death, which would come about as soon as the power touched him.

Now that his victory was close enough to taste, he was, once again, arguing with himself. He'd lost count of the number of times that he'd had to tell himself that this was a good idea.

It had seemed a lot more accessible, when it had been only a remote possibility. A Few weeks ago, when the Star-Reader had first asked him for his support, and his help, it had seemed a lot easier.

But now, as it drew ever closer, he was realizing something.

This, if everything went to plan, would be permanent.

If the Sicorea's dark Queen were set upon this earth once more, then everything that he knew would be changed.

He'd told himself that it would be worth it to not have to look over his shoulder for Duncan, but now he wasn't as certain.

At least he still had friends, even if he couldn't trust his old teacher.

And once, a long time ago, Duncan had told him that just because relationships changed it didn't mean that they ended.

As long as there was time, then there was always a chance that things could change again.

_Oh, god._

Closing his eyes, he rested his now throbbing head against the coolness of the tile floor.

Once this happened, then not only would Duncan be out of the picture, but so would _everyone_.

He just didn't know any more.

**18:47 –En Route To Giles' (Methos)**

Methos could feel the energy building in the air like static before a thunderstorm.

All that he knew for certain was that no matter how things turned out tonight, things were bound to be interesting.

**18:49 –The Summers Household**

Time enough for one last look in the mirror. One last check in the trunk that held all of her weapons, to see if there was anything else that she wanted to grab.

Such as an extra vile of holy water, or a couple more stakes.

Because it was pretty much a certain thing, that with something big, like this spell happening, then something was bound to happen, to throw things off the rails.

She paused at the door, turned back, and grabbed the bag that she carried her sword in. She didn't really want to give Adam –her father –her teacher –a reason to take her to task tonight.

She hadn't been able to believe what she was hearing, when her mom had told her what she had agreed to do, for her sake.

Seriously.

She'd just about rung up, to make an appointment with the hearing specialist.

If anything went wrong, if anything happened, whether between her and Adam, or to her, or…anything, really, then there would very possibly be an eternity to reflect on it.

She wondered if Adam had explained to her mom, properly, what had to be done in order to survive, the Game that had to be played.

_How can anyone willing agree to that?_

She didn't understand.

But she did understand.

It was just the same as how her mom had no choice but to understand her slaying. No choice but to accept that vampires existed.

Demons.

Things that went 'bump' in the night.

She understood, and she accepted, because at least it ment that she could be a part of her daughters life.

Just like Buffy took an interest in what was happening in her mom's life.

It happened; it was done, because for the longest of times they had only really had each other to rely on, and upon.

She'd remembered to ask, yesterday about Hank, only to find out that he'd only been around for roughly a year, before he'd found the pressure of having a ready-made family too much to handle, and left.

**18:50 –Giles' Apartment**

It was all ready to go.

Now all that there was to do was wait.

Philip had drifted back off to sleep.

He'd always been able to sleep through anything, whether it had been the pinnacle of a heavy-metal concert, or Ripper waking the entire household up by blasting that bloody opera record that he's nicked from Kensington Market.

Ethan still hadn't been able to work out why Rupert had wanted to go and make the five-finger discount work on such a veritable piece of crap, unless it had been done out of mischief alone.

"So, Ethan."

Ripper's voice snapped him away from wonderful thoughts of opera divas singing so highly that they made their own voice boxes explode.

"Hmm?" he made a noise of assertion, and looked towards him.

"Have you thought past tonight? To where we'll go, what'll happen, if it works? Or what you're going to do if it doesn't?"

He reached across, and took Rupert's hand in his own, twining his fingers through his own. Then, without really thinking about it, he raised their linked hands to rest against his cheek.

"No, not really. I think I'm more or less putting all of my focus, all of my energy, towards telling myself that it'll all work out, and towards preying to any god that's willing to listen, that I'm right."

Rupert nodded, once, and Ethan found his eyes drifting back to the slumbering Philip.

"So, did you ever work out how he manages it?"

For the moment, the seriousness was broken.

Rupert smiled, all too briefly.

"I never had to wonder. He told me how it worked, after the first couple of times I woke everyone else up."

"Well?"

"Well, I could tell you. But then, I'm afraid I'd have to kill you."

"Be worth it, to know."

**18:55 –Outskirts Of Sunnydale**

Kendra wished that her Watcher had been able to get a clearer fix on the dark power that was brewing in Sunnydale.

It was a strange feeling, to be entering into unfamiliar territory, with only the weapons in her backpack, and not even a game plan to back her up.

And what her Watcher had felt was even stranger, was that Mister Giles hadn't contacted the Council regarding the death of the current Slayer.

While a few people may have complained about his methods, she had never seen the reason why, and, from what her Watcher had told her, neither could he.

The most interesting thing that she'd heard regarding the matter was that he'd had a rather shaky start in his youth.

**18:57 –Outside The High School**

Duncan started to pace.

He would be late in another few minutes, but then, he hadn't expected anything else.

Maybe things would be better in he were to come back tomorrow. Looked at everything in the cool light of day.

But if this were to be an attempt at reconciliation, then if he weren't here he doubted that he'd get another shot at it.

He'd seen the pain, and fear, in Richie's expression when he'd gone to visit him at his own house.

And so, he had to wait.

He _had_ to see.

**19:00 –Jenny's Apartment.**

She inscribed several symbols in the air around her head, and saw them in her minds eye, wrapping around a dark blue, and red chair that represented Ethan's magickal power. She could feel the air heating up, and they sunk into the chain, and saw a brief flash of white as it disappeared inside it completely.

The flash of light was sharp enough, and bright enough, to light her apartment for a heartbeat. Bright enough that she saw white spots dancing behind her eyelids when she blinked.

"I call on you, to bind the usurper of the Balance. I ask of you, to take back what is truly your own. I, your faithful daughter plead to you. Sever the ropes of power."

This time she drew the image of a guillotine, coming down on the centre of the blue and red chain.

As it snapped for the first time she channelled the escaping flashes of power towards the hunk of clear Quartz that she had decided to use as the vessel.

It would take some half-dozen repetitions, in order to be sure of her success. And even then, she would have to wait up, in the circle, until midnight, if she wanted to be sure that it would work.

**19:03 –The Cavern Under The Sewers**

The scream that the female uttered as he cut through, into her stomach, was chilling even to them.

As he pierced her flesh, her head jerked upwards, knowledge making way for instinct, as she dug all of her fangs into his throat.

He couldn't breath. He couldn't pull away because that would rip throat out. In fact, for the first few seconds all that he could do, was stand there, head bowed low. The pain was paralytic.

Then, he could move again. The thought, that there were far more painful ways to die, was his inspiration. If this weren't done, then Kali-Taron would make him linger, and suffer, and bleed him for every inch that he was worth.

Finally, the task done, he braced himself and drew back. It was relief, as the fangs were ripped from his flesh, and his lungs gasped, to draw breath in through his ragged, torn windpipe.

Kail-Taron reached over, and picked up the two tiny cubs in one hand. They were tiny, and their scales were overly large, rough, and pure white. It wouldn't be until around their forth year that their skin developed any pigment.

**19:03 –En Route To High School (Richie)**

He'd made his mind up. He'd changed his mind.

No matter what happened he couldn't let this happen. Even thought the betrayal had hurt, that didn't make his own actions right.

He'd been taught better than that.

The price that he had to pay wasn't worth the prize. Not when all was said and done.

Not when that price was so many innocent lives.

If he hadn't had so long to think on it, then he may have come to a different conclusion. But that was the way things were.

He couldn't change the past, but he could change his own plans for the future.

**19:05 –Giles' Apartment (Methos)**

He knocked on the door, and it was opened seconds later.

The only light was from the last of the suns' rays, coming in through the window. For the duration of the spell, only natural lighting would be used, whether sunlight, candlelight, or a fire in the hearth.

Well, that and any light that the magick it's self would provide.

He didn't believe in any higher power that guided things like this.

He only knew what he'd seen. And he had _seen_ a hell of a lot, in his time.

If it worked, then it would be because of _their_ strength and focus, not because of some unreachable, unknowable higher power.

People may call him cynical, on occasion, but he didn't believe that. As far as he was concerned, he was just realistic.

**19:07 –En Route To Giles' Apartment (Buffy)**

She looked at her mom for a few seconds, as she slipped into the car beside her.

"So, mom. This works, then what happens next?"

"I talked to Adam at some length about that, and he mentioned Paris. He said that there were a few people that he knew there, and, well…I've always wanted to see Paris," she turned, and looked fully at Buffy, "Oh Buffy can you imagine it? You and me, in Paris?"

Joyce sounded so young, as she said it. All of the years that she'd but into raising her daughter, on her own, dropped away for a moment, and Buffy could see what her mom might have been like when she was her age.

_Yeah, sure –Paris... _

She wasn't going to bring up the fact that as long as she was the only Slayer she had to be here, though. And she wasn't going to go into the fact that she would be the Slayer right up until the moment she died.

Which, at the moment, looked to be set at a steady 'never'.

**Coming Together, and Clashes…**

**19:08 –Giles' Apartment (Giles)**

He opened the door to let the first of the arrivals in, taking in the tension on Ethan's face as he did so.

As he stepped back, however, to let Ethan see who it was, his old friends' face lit up, with a warm smile, as he nodded to him.

"Adam."

It was rare that Ethan ever showed such open warmth towards anyone else. The last time that he'd seen it, had been back when they had both been teenagers, and it had been directed at him.

It didn't leave much of what had gone on between him and teacher to imagination.

"Rupert, this is Adam Pierson. My …teacher. Adam, Rupert Giles. My oldest and dearest friend."

"Yes," Adam extended his hand, "Ethan has told me quite a bit about you."

It was hard not to snap at him, looking and knowing. But it was only his fault –His, for turning Ethan away.

"Yes," he kept his voice mild as he spoke, "All of it good, I hope."

"Well, actually…" Ethan started to say, then trailed off.

**19:08 –Outskirts of Sunnydale**

For normal people whom were living on, or right next to, a Hellmouth, the self-preservation that they were showing was surprisingly non-existent. If anyone in her home village had been so brash, then they would have been reprimanded instantly.

So it was, that she had to keep reminding herself that this was Southern California, rather than her home.

**19:10 –Outside the High School**

The feel of an approaching Immortal put him back onto his guard, and he tensed, his had automatically dropping to the handle of his katana.

Seconds later Richie burst into site, and doubled over, body heaving as he gasped for breath.

Still, Duncan hung back a little, keeping a reasonable distance between himself and the young man.

Finally, he looked up.

"Shit, I've fucked up," he was still gasping for breath as he got the words out.

"Calm yourself down, and wait until you're not trying to pant your lungs up."

The fear, and reluctance on his old students face cut him to the quick.

"Please don't kill me. I really need a hand."

He nodded, once, and went to take a step towards him, before he caught himself. It was far too soon.

Only the other day the young man had been saying that he would never trust him again. But here he was, now, asking him for his help.

It wouldn't do, to get lax. But that didn't mean that he wouldn't help.

"Why? What's happened?"

"I've done something stupid."

"What?"

"I cut a deal, with a pack of demons. They're gonna attack tonight, and I can't stop them on my own. If Methos finds out, then he'll kill me, himself."

"Where?" was what he asked, when what he really wanted to do, was make Richie meet his eye, and ask him _why_, instead.

"At the British Watchers' place."

Still, the fact that he _was _asking for help was a good thing. It meant that maybe things just weren't beyond repair.

They might not ever be the same, but they could get better.

**22:00 –Jenny's Apartment**

She bowed her head, as she dropped, gracefully, to her knees. She had done everything that she could to ensure success.

If the spell was going to take hold, then it would do so at around midnight, when the barriers between worlds were at their weakest, and magick was at its height.

**22:00 –Outside Giles' Apartment**

It was the factor of free choice, the prevented Kali-Taron from seeing in the stars, Riche's final decision.

He led his small pack onwards, and upwards, only to find himself stopped mere hours, and inches shy of his goal.

He would never entrust the cubs to another one of the pack members. As the leader, they were his responsibility, and his alone.

Standing to the back, he watched and his pack clashed with his young former ally, and the older Undying one, the one whose throat that he had stopped the young, disrespectful fool from tearing out.

It took a solid half-hours work, blades flashing out, for the two Undying ones to fell the pack. But fell it they did.

And as the last of his allies fell, all that he could do was retreat, in order to protect the next generation. Because without the rest of his pack, then he wouldn't carry enough magickal weight in order to disrupt the spell.

Richie looked towards him, gratitude heavy in his expression.

"Thank-you, MacLeod."

He made as though to walk away, but a hand on his elbow stopped him.

Duncan knew, that by acting so suddenly, and so brashly, he could have just well undone the tiny truce that he and the young man had reached, but he couldn't just let him walk away like that again.

Just like he shouldn't have let him simply walk away, after he'd taken his first head.

There were a lot of points in his life that he wished he were able to go back to, and he wasn't about to let this become another one of them.

**23:55 –Jenny's Apartment**

She felt the tendrils of power stirring, as her binding spell stirred into action.

**00:57 –Giles' Apartment**

The spell was reaching its crescendo, the accumulated power focused, and slowly, almost painfully, building in the centre of the circle.

There, it would keep building, until it could be directed properly, at midnight, when magick was at its greatest strength.

Then, just as Ethan began to start manipulating the gathered energy, he felt something almost…sliding in between himself and his power. Coming to act as a buffer.

He tried to slam past it, but nothing of the sort was happening.

It was with real fear in his expression, as he felt it slipping away, that he lost all of his focus, and looked towards his teacher, hoping that he would be able to count on the old mans years of experience for a solution.

Without being able to touch, or even feel his power, he felt damaged, as though someone had cut off both his hands. He'd relied upon his magick for so long that it really had become an extension of who he was.

The moment was passed. The attempt at he spell was over, for now at least.

"Methos, what in the seven circles of hell is going on?"

He didn't even realise what he'd said, until he noticed that Rupert had gone pale, and sat down very fast. Seconds later, he fumbled his glasses off his face, and began to polish at the lenses hard enough for Ethan to worry about how much pressure they could safely take.

"Methos?" he asked, in a tiny voice, looking towards the man that Ethan had originally addressed as Adam. Of course he knew the stories. Tales. Legends.

This was the man whom had once been known as Death upon a pale horse.

"Oh dear lord."

The man in question was standing, with his eyes closed, giving no indication that he'd heard Ethan's slip. He may not have had much skill on the practical side of working magick, but he did know how to recognize someone through their magickal signature alone.

The Watcher-woman would curse the day that she decided to mess with those that _he _cared for.

Ethan was surprised that he was left standing, as Methos turned and left.


	29. Chapter 28:To Face The Consequences Of

**Chapter 28**

**To Face The Consequences Of Challenging Death**

Joyce didn't know what she was meant to think, or how she was meant to react. She had said it herself, on the night that she had found out about who he was.

"_My God, how do I even know that Adam is your real name?"_

She had been right in her doubts. It wasn't.

Now she found out that his name was Methos.

And if Giles had gone white, then Buffy had lost a little colour herself. She was remembering one night, when she had spent hours hitting the books, in an effort to find out about a cult of people who were trying to resurrect the Four Horsemen, and bring about the apocalypse.

"_Hey, Giles, listen to this. 'For he is as old as time it's self. He was there at the start of everything, and he will be there at the end. It was he, who struck fear into the hearts of all that dared to face him, and he exists only to act as the deaths of others. Thousands of men feel during his reign, which was an age of blood and death. None that saw his face ever lived to tell of it. He is true power, and Death alike, and his name is Methos. As the most savage of the Horsemen, he…"_

_She trailed off, as Giles glanced at the book over her shoulder, and flipped it over to see the cover._

"_That's good work, Buffy," he said, as he scanned through a few more of the pages, coming to a halt a few pages after the passage she had read out. The title at the head of the page was 'The Cult of the Four.'_

"Damn it," Ethan was berating himself, over what he'd just gone and done, "I am so dead."

"No," Buffy half-whispered, almost as a plea, "My father can't be Methos."

Ethan looked at her, "Your _father?"_ he said, in a tone of voice that would have been adequate if she had just told him that she knew how to make the sum implode, "That really _is_ impossible –Although, yes, he _really _is Methos. He does tend to limit the number of people that know, though. Probably wanted you to get to know him first. Now, don't suppose you'd like to tell me why he believes he's your father."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

As she felt the spell working, she heard a voice whispering to her, the brush of another power touching against her own.

_Tell Methos that The Lady sends her greetings._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

He walked, in the manner of a determined man. No one would dare to cross his path tonight, for fear of attracting his attention, and with it, his wrath.

No one would ever get away with hurting one of those few people that he cared for. Ever.

"_Methos, what in the seven circles of hell is going on?"_

As he drew closer, he let himself think back on what had just happened. He had just been out-ed, and the Watcher had recognized his name instantly.

It was bound to have happened sooner or later, but he would have preferred it to have been in a couple of centuries time, when Buffy and Joyce would have been able to understand why he hid whom he was.

There was no taking it back now, though. It was done, and he would just have to live with it, for better or for worse.

He turned towards Jenny's apartment, and, without breaking stride, went for the door handle. He was surprised when it turned with ease. But then, why bother locking up when the place was warded against all intruders?

With all of the latent power that he had gained over the years, all that he felt on passing through them, however, was a minor irritation.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The feeling of someone breaching the wards dragged her out of her trance, and back to reality.

She stood, and as went to turn she felt something that was cold, and hard, and metal striking at the side of her head, and she blacked out.

When she came to, it was to find Adam standing over her.

Terror, unrivalled by anything that she had ever experienced before, shot through her. Because the expression in his eyes didn't look anything like human. They were cold, and totally unfeeling of any compassion and he stared through her rather than at her.

When he spoke, his voice carried the same ice-chill tone.

"You are Jenny Calendar, also known as Yana, of the Kalderdash people, and member of the Watchers' organization. Do you know who I am?"

His words were conversational. The way he delivered them, not so.

"A…A…Adam Pierson. You used to be a Watcher, until you were found out as an Immortal."

She would have to think fast, if she wanted to get out of this.

"Half-marks," he growled, as he glared at her, "That's a part of who I am. Now, do you know who I really am, Watcher?"

"Who…Who…Who you really are?"

"Well, I knew the answer to that before I asked you. If you knew who I really was, then you'd have left well enough alone."

"W-Who?" She swallowed, as she asked.

"I'm asking the questions. How do I break the spell, Watcher?"

She found a little of her courage again, and met his cold gaze for a few seconds, "Why should I tell you?"

"Found some back-bone, hmm? Because if you don't then you will die, very slowly, and you will know the true meaning of agony before you do."

No need to mention that telling him would only earn her a fast death.

The moment drew out, and her grasped her around the throat, and slowly started to tighten his grasp. Again, terror took her, and she started to writhe, and struggle in his grasp.

As she began to claw at his fingers, he loosened up for a heartbeat, so that she could have her chance to talk.

"Rikuets' Binding," she gasped, and a cold smile stole over his face.

"Good girl." If he killed her then the spell would break automatically.

He tightened his grasp again. It had been a while since he had killed a mortal. Since he'd _had_ to kill a mortal. But it was something that he felt no reluctance about. She had hurt what was his, and she had to pay the price.

He would warn Buffy about letting things get too far with Angelus himself. Not that there would be much further opportunity for that once they were out of the country.

He pause, and looked her in the eye, "You deserve my name, at least. It's the way things are done, since I'm going to end your life."

"But you said that if I told you…"

"I said that if you didn't you would die slowly. You have, so you get to die fast, instead. As for who I am –I'm your worst nightmare made flesh. I am the legend that your people whisper about to make children behave. When you challenged me, you signed away your own life. I was the pale rider, when the four horsemen rode the earth. Can you guess my name?"

She didn't answer, even though she had the air to. Her eyes were wide, and rounded, with panic.

"I am Methos. And you are dead."

In a last ditch attempt to save herself, the whisper that she had been given came to mind.

"Wait!" the word exploded out of her, and she threw up her hands, trying to force him away, "I was told… I was told to let you know that The Lady sends her greetings."

He gave no indication that he'd heard, as he grabbed her by the throat again. Just before she blacked out, she managed to gasp a few last words, which she put to the best use that she could.

"See you in hell."

Again he smiled at her, coldly.

"Not for a long time yet, Watcher."

He turned to leave, and found a young-looking woman, with almond-shaped eyes, and dark skin coming into the room behind him.

She lunged at him with perfect speed and grace, swinging her legs into a high kick, as she got to where he was.

And she went straight past her mark, because it was now where he wasn't.

He had stepped to one side, and, as she went past him, he slammed his hand into her back, adding to her momentum, and slamming her down.

She struck the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of her lungs, and yet she still managed to use the force of her impact to flip forward, and come up on her feet, spinning to face him again.

There was a serious smile on her face, like she was enjoying the fight, even though she had just seen him kill one woman, and didn't know for sure that he wouldn't kill her, too.

She came towards him, and in one smooth move, he hooked one leg around her ankle, and unbalanced her too fast for her to do anything about it. This time, as she went down he made sure to put his boot onto her throat the second she hit, even though he was careful not to put any weight on it. And, not taking his eyes off of her, he reached into his jacket and drew his sword, which he angled towards her heart, as he took his foot away.

"Now, I am not in a good mood tonight. I want answers, and I want them fast, if you wish to survive the night."

"Pah," she spat at him, "You tink dat death is frightening to me? If you kill me den another will take my place."

_This is interesting._

"Who are you?" he asked, in an attempt to take control of the conversation again, and pressing his sword down a little, do drive the threat home.

"I am Kendra. The Vampire Slayer."

Well, it did make some sense. Buffy was Immortal, so she must have died at some point.

All of a sudden, in spite of himself, he began to chuckle. _This is just perfect,_ he thought.

Who would have thought it? It was another Slayer here, one who could take things over on the Hellmouth.

He _could_ get his family out of here. If he could convince them of his sincerity, that was –If he hadn't lost their trust completely.

He dropped his sword, and slid it smoothly back into place.

"You and I are on the same team, in a manner of speaking," he held out a hand, to help her up, and she looked at it warily, unsure of if it was some sort of ploy.

"But I just saw you kill dat woman."

"And that woman was using magick, to hurt someone that I cared for. I couldn't let him suffer, and the only way to break the spell _was_ to kill her. I'm sorry at the loss of life, but it was the only option that was left to me. If there had been any other way…"

He could do the whole 'sincere' act very well. After all, he'd had a few years to practise it.

Again, he held out his hand, and this time she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Richie looked back at Duncan, and then down to the hand grasping at his elbow. There was unease written on every line of his features.

His heart began to gallop in his chest, like a runaway racehorse.

This was going to be it.

He was going to lose his head, this time.

MacLeod had every reason to kill him, now. Before, when he had no reason to, he had tried to. And now, he had told him that he had as good as betrayed him, in order to get an unfair chance at his head.

He didn't have the energy, or the will, to fight with him any longer.

They may have just fought side by side, but that didn't undo there past history.

He closed his eyes, not bothering to go for his sword, which he had just sheathed again. He tilted his head back, to give him a clear shot at his neck, so that this time he wouldn't have to live with the fear and pain that he had gone through before, the last time he had barely survived MacLeod's attack.

"Just make it quick and clean, Mac. That's all that I'm gonna ask of you."

Duncan looked at the young man standing before him with an expression of disbelief on his face, and pity and sorrow in his heart. _He still honestly thinks that I'm going to kill him,_ he thought to himself.

Then, without giving himself to consider whether it was the wrong move or not, he took a tiny step towards him, and hugged him to his chest.

In spite of his hard words, the young man was shaking something fierce.

He had never had much of a defence against affection, and coddling, and that obviously was something that hadn't changed even in spite of, or perhaps even because of everything else that had.

He broke down, sobs shaking his body.

He had been prepared to give up his life, only seconds before. But this was an entirely different kind of surrender. To let someone that he had been at odds with for so long see him in his pain.

And all that MacLeod did was hold him.


	30. Chapter 29:To Be Forgiven

**Chapter 29**

**To Be Forgiven **

"_In order to be forgiven, we must, in turn, be prepared to forgive those whom have done us wrong."_

………………………………………………………………

He had felt it some fifteen minutes ago, his power flowing back into him. His body was tingling and throbbing, and aching with it. He wanted nothing more then to exercise the tingling out by…he shook his head. It was best not to let his thoughts start to go down that track, least he wind up…distracted.

If Methos had been planning on killing him over his slip, then he wouldn't have restored his power first.

"You know, he has a good reason to hide his true name, Buffy," Ethan's voice was gentle, as he tried to get through to the Slayer.

He was met with a cold silence.

So he tried again.

"He keeps it to himself because a lot of people are incapable of understanding that he isn't who –what he once was. It took near four months before he even told _me_ his true name, and we were…" he trailed off, as he glanced towards Giles, "Also, he was probably doing it for your sake too. If you didn't know, then people couldn't hurt you because of it."

"Ethan, if you want to do me a favour then you can shut up."

The Mage looked taken aback, as he fell silent.

Buffy stood and walked over to her mom, who was just sitting there, with a blank look on her face. As she sat beside her, she regarded her with concern.

The silence didn't last all that long, "But you have to understand, Buffy."

"No," she glared at him, "I don't have to understand, or listen to anything. If you'd really been considering me, then you would have told me straight off, who he was. Hell, if _he_ had really been concerned then _he_ would have told me, rather than trying to keep it in the dark. What am I meant to think, that he was grooming me to…"

"It's precisely this reason that he doesn't," Ethan snapped, "Pre-formed prejudices."

She spun in her seat, and yelled.

"Stop making excuses for _him._ His entire history, his entire past as far as I know it has been dedicated to hurting people –To killing them –To making them suffer."

"He's not that same person any more," Ethan's voice held a trace of anger, at her refusal to listen to common sense. Or any sense, for that matter. He sent a silent, pleading glance in Rupert's direction. The other man caught his gaze, and returned it, in the same manner of the forceful glare that Buffy had been pinning him with.

"If you'd had _any_ sense, Ethan," he growled.

"I've lived with him for three fucking years, _Ripper_," his voice held a trace of irony, at the idea of being lectured by someone who wasn't all that white and pure himself, "And I know who he is."

"And three years is long enough a time, to be able to judge a man who, by all accounts, has been alive for over five thousand?"

At that precise moment the Buzz of an approaching Immortal made Buffy and Ethan stiffen and glance towards the door. It was already instinct, these days, for Ethan to drop his hand to the handle of his sword –An instinct that, in time, Buffy too would develop, in response to her even-more crazy than usual life.

A sharp, loud knock sounded at the door, and Ethan opened it cautiously. Among other traits, Methos had also taught him a little about paranoia, and how well it worked, for keeping one alive.

A black haired, dark skinned, brown eyed young woman pushed past him, and into the room, her poise one of a warrior, barely restrained, only just held back. Methos followed no more than a step behind her, an air of quiet confidents about him.

It was an air which vanished as soon as Joyce saw him, and came to stand before him, a deep anger burning in her eyes like fire. Looking at her, it was no wonder Buffy had such a fiery attitude, and forceful personality.

"I don't know who you are," her voice was soft, and deadly, "or why you expect me to trust you, when I don't know anything about you, but I do know this. I trust my daughter, and if her reaction is anything to go by, then there's no way that you can be a good person. I want you out of my life, and I want you out of it now. I'd be happy to never set eyes on you again."

She left, and all that Methos could do was watch. It would have made things even worse that they already were, to chase after her. The best thing to do, here and now, was give her the space that she needed, and give make sure that she had the correct information.

And, judging by the mirroring anger in Buffy's eyes, that was something that he would have to make sure that she got, too.

That would mean telling them –all of them, for good measure, everything. And that was something that he now felt would be worth it, in order to regain lost trust.

Buffy looked at him coolly, with a more controlled anger in her expression. More controlled, yes, but, because of that, even more deadly.

Kendra looked around at each of the people still in the room, her expression puzzled.

And Buffy finally took notice of her. She spoke directly to her, not wanting to address Adam –Methos, "And who're you?"

Methos answered before she had a chance to, "Kendra –The new Slayer. Your successor, I believe, Buffy."

Curiosity fought with distaste, and won out, "Another Slayer. How is that possible?"

"I'd say it happened the usual way. You died, and she would have been called."

Kendra looked at the blond, who was very muck alive, standing before her, and felt very puzzled. She had been called, yes, but it was clear that Buffy wasn't dead at the moment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For the first time since things had started to go wrong, he turned to the stars again –Turned back to the one thing that he should never have turned away from. There had to be a way to save this.

A way for all of his preparation to not go to waste –And, as he looked, he finally read it. It would be hard. But it could be done.

Holding the two cubs to his chest he made his way to a car, and settled himself into the back seat, pressing himself low.

Then, he rested one of the young in the drivers' seat.

The young, as their only defence, carried a deadly venom, right up until the start of their third year. Anyone that one of the young bit would find him or herself paralyzed, and would be dead within the week.

If he struck at the woman, then the others would fall into place once again. Without the female as a focal it would be difficult to transfer the energies that would be released by the spell from the young, through to the Queen, but he believed that he could still do it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The uneasy tension in Giles' small apartment was broken a very frightening sound –The sound of the scream of a woman, in pain and fear –A scream which was cut frighteningly short.

Methos reacted on pure instinct, as he pushed Kendra to one side, spun, and ran outside, to the source of the scream, hand already on his sword.

He recognized them instantly, as soon as he saw them –Tiny, white, and almost harmless looking. Sicorea.

Very young.

And not so harmless, not if one knew what their bite was capable of doing.

He opened the door, grabbed out the one that had sunk its tiny teeth into the flesh of Joyce's leg, and made to step on it, just as a fully grown male burst out of the back window, claws fully extended, and teeth bared.

Age old instinct, reactions that had been trained into his muscles years ago, movements that were like a second nature were what won out.

He brought his sword up smoothly, and it pierced through the males' chest. The tiny cub that it had been holding hit the ground, and bounced, landing next to it's twin.

In one smooth move he stepped on both of them at once, before turning his attention to Joyce.

The venom was already beginning to do its work. She looked at him, and half-said a word that he could guess at, if the fear in her voice was anything to judge by.

"Help."

Buffy and the others got outside seconds later, just in time to see the venom take hold completely. Joyce was paralyzed.

She looked at Methos, and her mom, and the dead demons on the ground, before turning on the ancient, " You. What the hell have you done to her? You can't get to me, so you turn on my mother? I'm going to…"

"Buffy."

The sharp note in Ethan's voice was enough to bring her to a temporary halt, and she glared at him for a millisecond, giving him the chance to say what he had to.

"Don't say something that you'll regret."

Her hand dropped into the bag which contained her sword, "But I'm not going to regret it. Not when you've fucking…"

"Sicorea," Methos cut in, quickly, as he looked to Buffy's Watcher. She may want to kill _him_, but at least she listened to, and trusted him, "I wasn't quick enough," he swallowed, and she saw a very real vulnerability on his face, "the scream would have been the youth biting her."

"Buffy," Giles grasped her hand which was now curled around the handle of her drawn sword, and gently loosened her fingers from their death-grasp, "look. Look at what's in front of you. It wasn't him."

She was shaking, and Giles understood that only too well.

He looked upwards, turning his attention to Methos, "A youth, you say."

He nodded, "Which means that there is only one chance."

"What do you mean 'one chance'? How the hell are you so rational, when my mothers…"

Giles fell into a familiar mode, adopting the tone of voice, and stance that she had always found reassuring in the past, "The venom of the Sicorea young has a paralytic property. It will hold her in stasis for around a week, before it kills her. But it can not kill someone that is already dead. Our 'one chance' is to attempt the spell again. To kill her, once the spell has been, well, activated, so to speak, will, umm, well, reset things. And she will be fine."

"The spell –The spell –The bloody spell. If it weren't for the bloody spell, then none of this would have happened. You've been pushing this 'spell' so hard, how do I know that…"

He spun, and turned to her, grabbing her by the shoulder and shoving her back, all before she could so much as raise a finger. Her back struck the car, hard, and he glared down at her, a dark chill in his expression. In spite of herself, she shivered. If he decided to do it, then there would be nothing that anyone else would be able to do about it.

He yelled something in a language that she didn't have a hope in hell of understanding, and then he took a deep breath, and reverted to English.

"Stop bloody accusing me, and listen. Do you want her to die?"

"No, oh god, no…" She dropped to her knees, sobbing.

Methos grabbed her by the chin, and tilted her head back, so that they were eye to eye again, "Then I need you to trust me."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was too late to try again tonight.

The spell took hours to set up, and it had to be passed at midnight, for there to be any chance of it working. Passing into a new life, at the same moment as the old day passed into a new one –A lot of spell-work like that relied on poetry, and symmetry.

Buffy had helped to carry Joyce back inside, and had decided to spend the night herself.

Silently, Methos stared at the body of the adult. He knew of their ability to read the stars. He also knew that there would have had to have been a link between the pack, and a person who was linked to him, in order for them to discern the proper information.

The question was who had been the link?

Even as he wondered, a dark voice whispered to him in his mind.

"_No, I'd rather not…"_

It wasn't something that he wanted to believe, but for the last few days, Richie had been distant. He'd seen a glimpse of fear, and unease in his eyes, in his expression in the tiny moments that he hadn't realized he was being observed.

His hand tightened around the handle of his sword, and he turned away. If he'd crossed him, then it would be the last thing that he ever did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I can't go home. If any of them got through, then I'm five different kinds of dead, and the guy that leads the pact ain't here," Richie looked at Duncan, and for a few seconds he was seeing the young, scared teen that he had taken into his life and his heart in the first place.

The young man had acted out of nothing more than fear.

He nodded to him, loosened a key that was very familiar, and pressed it into the palm of his hand.

He would still protect this boy, even though he wasn't quite that same child any more.

"Go. I'll be there in a couple of weeks myself. Just keep your head low, and stay out of trouble."

He saw the reluctance in his expression, and realized that a lot of trust was still lacking. As per a matter of fact, something would probably always be missing.

"Look at it this way. Do you have anywhere else to go?"

Slowly Richie shook his head.

He adopted a little more authority in his tone, "Then go."

He knew that it would be as easy as anything for him to run. All that he could hope for, was that the bond that they'd once shared would win out. But even if it didn't, then at least he knew that he had a place, and a person to turn to, if the going got too hard.

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The place, when he got there, was empty.

And that was all the proof that he needed.

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As the sun had risen, Philip had finally decided that he would be best served by moving on, and the group had decided that with all of the people that were at Giles' place the new Slayer would be best off spending the day at a motel.

"You know, Buffy, the best thing that you could be doing at the moment is getting some rest. Even though things didn't go as planned, magick still takes a lot out of even the most experienced of casters," Giles spoke in a soft voice, to Buffy.

She didn't even bother to reply out loud, settling simply for shaking her head.

"I thought as much," he said. He knew that there was no point in arguing with the stricken young Immortal. If he hadn't been so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open then he probably wouldn't have been thinking about sleep, either.

"I've faced horrors that most people would lock me up for even suggesting that they exist, but I've never felt this…this powerless, this helpless, Giles. I wish I'd been the one to kill those things, so that then I could make them suffer."

Methos walked over from where he was pacing the floor, and made to grasp her hand, even as she tugged it away from him. He felt a flare of frustration at her stubbornness.

"Look, Buffy."

"No. Don't you 'Look, Buffy,' me. I'm tolerating you for her sake at the moment, and that's all. As soon as this is done, then it's over."

"No, you need to listen. You need to understand my position. Every decision that I make has to be weighed. Every person that I let into my life is a risk-factor. Every person that comes into my life is at risk. Not from me, but from those that want to get to me. _ I didn't want you to be in that position._"

She wasn't brushing him off any more. Wasn't telling him to shut up, or get stuffed. Wasn't walking away.

It was a little more promising that the last couple of times.

As he carried on, Giles and gave her shoulder a light squeeze, before he finally headed up to his bedroom to catch up on a little of the sleep that he'd missed out on last night. The sound of snoring was a surprisingly welcome one.

"You've always done what was necessary to protect you friends, haven't you? Whether that was keeping them out of danger, by keeping a few things to yourself, or telling them to stay away, or anything else that had to be done."

Buffy looked at him, finally starting to see past the deception, "I did it, because I had a duty to protect them. _Do_ have a duty to protect them. If they got killed, because of something that could have been avoided…" she left the sentence unfinished.

"And you are _my_ own child. A marvel. A wonder. An impossibility. You think that I don't feel like it's my duty to keep you as safe as I can? To protect you, no matter what that meant, or means?"

"I…I guess…," then she frowned, "Means?"

"Just because I'm not the most favourite among the people that you know at the moment, did you honestly think that I would simply walk away and leave you to it?"

"No. Not really. But with the way I…"

"I've been accused of far worse, and by a lot scarier people, my girl," he sighed, and frowned.

_I've done far worse_.

But that could go unsaid, really.

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There were ten minutes to go until midnight.

Kendra circled Giles' place again, and narrowed her eyes at a shadow that seemed a little darker, and thicker, than it ought to have been.

A dog barking in the distance was the only sign of life at this late hour.

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Ethan knew that it had worked this time. He could feel the subtle shift of power, and everything balancing out again.

A muted tingle-like buzz, which was almost impossible to pinpoint gave the confirmation for those who weren't as magick-sensitive as he was.

He glanced towards Methos, and nodded at him, unable to keep the grin from spreading on his face.

He broke the wards around the circle, and as Methos moved towards Joyce, he was stopped short by a hand on his chest.

"Wait. Why now?"

He looked at her.

"Because if the poison runs it's course and kills her, then when she comes back she'll be permanently paralyzed. If it's something other than the poison that does it, then the rebirth will wipe it from her system."

She nodded, and twisted away, closing her eyes.

It was over seconds later.

Leaving Buffy and Methos to sit beside Joyce and wait he went out to the kitchen, with Giles a step behind, and started to fill the teapot with water. Giles looked at him for a few moments.

"You're shivering."

"Magickal let-down, as you well know. So are you."

Giles fished the tea-leaves out of the cupboard, and handed the jar over, "So, that's it. It's done?"

Ethan nodded, and grinned again, "It's all done, dear," then his expression became serious, "We'll sort out the other part shortly enough."

"It's odd, to have someone talking, so calmly, about killing me."

"Oh, really?"

Tea-leaves in the pot. Pot on the element.

Ethan reached into his pocket, and pulled out a packet of tobacco, which Giles frowned at.

"Well, no. Not really. If it were anybody else, then it would be. Seems to be a recurring theme with you, though. You always want to either kiss me, or kill me. I think it depends on which phase the moon is in. And last I knew, you'd quit."

Voice soft, almost tender. Joking.

"I did quit. But it settles me back down, brings me back to Earth. And besides, it's not like it'll kill me."

A gasp from in the lounge broke into the moment, as Joyce Summers entered into her Immortality.

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"Are you okay?"

"How do you feel?"

Both Methos and Buffy spoke at the same time. And in spite of the foolishness of the gesture, Methos pressed a hand to Joyce's forehead. She closed her eyes, and pressed into the coolness of his touch.

"My head. Hurts."

He smiled at her, "It'll pass soon enough. There's probably still a little of the toxin left in your system."

She moved back slightly, and looked at him.

"You…you saved my life."

"I could hardly have done anything less, Joyce."

"Still, thank-you," her voice was a tiny whisper.


	31. Chapter 30:Epilogue

**Epilogue**

After everyone had dispersed, they had done it.

Ethan had given him a glass of whiskey, spiked with mandrake venom. It had been quick, and painless.

And of course, he had been there when he woke back up, fingers twined through his, and a tender expression on his face.

With a gentle hand, he brushed back a few strands of hair which had fallen over his eyes.

"Well, that really _is_ it, love. It's all over and done."

He leaned down, and brushed a gentle kiss against his lips, "For better or for worse, we've got forever."

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Duncan gathered a few little things that he remembered as having some significance to Richie. He hadn't planned on going back to Seacouver any time in this lifetime, but there were far worse reasons to have ones plans go astray.

**Sunnydale Airport**

Buffy looked towards Kendra, and gave a little grin, "Na. It was gonna be Paris, and Adam says that he'd still be happy to set mom and me up with a friend of his over there, but that kinda defeats the purpose of everything. He said that he needs to go to Germany, to check up on something there. So, Germany it is."

Kendra nodded. It still seemed strange to her that Buffy was still alive, in a way, but there wasn't anything in that to complain about.

"Good luck, Buffy."

"Right back at ya. I'm sure that you'll be able to manage Sunnydale, but if anything really big does come up, then you've got my cell phone number. And I'm sure that I won't stop dreaming."

She gave the younger Slayer a brief hug, and then did the same to the rest of her friends, who were also there to see her off. The only person that wasn't there was Angel, but she'd said a private goodbye to him last night.

Finally, she turned towards where Giles and Ethan were standing, a little way apart from the rest of the group. There was no hand-holding, or any obvious signs that there was anything going on, but the glance that they shared quickly was significant.

They were catching their own flight out towards London later that afternoon, and Kendra's own Watcher was on his way out to Sunnydale, to join his Slayer.

"Make sure that you ring and keep me up to date on everything that's going on, Buffy. I want to hear from you every third day, at the very least."

"Sure, oh Watcher of mine," she grinned at him.

While this little exchange was going on, Ethan had moved over to stand in front of Methos. He hesitated for a few seconds, and then hugged him tightly, "Thank-you. For everything, old man. You take care of yourself, and keep yourself in one piece."

A smile tugged at the corners of Methos' mouth, "Wouldn't be getting sentimental on me would you now, Rayne?"

"Never. You only rebuilt my life and showed me what it meant to live again. I'm sure that anyone could have done it."

Ethan loosened his hold, and stepped away, looking to meet his teachers' eye.

"Still making jokes, boy?" his expression settled, "Don't you ever lose that."

"I won't."

"I _will_ see you around, Ethan."

"Yeah," he twisted away, to hide the lone tear which threatened to wet his cheek. The he took a deep breath, "Be seeing you, old man."

Methos nodded.

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As the Summers family boarded the plane, Methos sat down in the seat next to Buffy and closed his eyes.

Back to Germany.

Back to the country which he'd sworn never to set foot in again, because of…

_If she's alive, then it really is a miracle._

Buffy watched as Sunnydale dwindled into the distance. She may be leaving the Hellmouth in person, but she was sure that one day, whether in a few months time, of a few years, her own ghosts would call her back here. Because even though it had its problems, it was still home.


End file.
